Fantastic Adventures v01n01 [1939-05] (cape1736) {FIXED}

THE MAN FROM MARS

SEE BACK COVER

ADVENTURES

ARTHUR TOFTE'S
GREATEST STORV

REVOLT

o■fj the

ROBOTS

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FANTASTIC ADVENTURES

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A CONFIDENTIAL CHAT WITH THE EDITOR

W E ALL know who said “There’s nothing new
under the sun” and the quotation has been a
long-standing favorite. So often has it been
said that it has been accepted as fact. However, no longer
can we apply the saying truthfully. For there is something
new under the sun—FANTASTIC ADVENTURES, the
magazine of magazines, the greatest fiction event of all time.

For one whole year the editors of FANTASTIC AD¬
VENTURES have been preparing the magazine you now
hold in your hands. Literally hundreds of the best man¬
uscripts written by America’s—no—the world’s best writ¬
ers of fantastic literature, have been read and re-read in a
determined effort to select a new, distinctive type of fantasy,
covering as broad an entertainment range as possible. For
twelve long months we have conferred with writers, with
the best fantastic artists, with the leading idea men in the
field of unusual science fiction.

For an even longer time than that, using the experience
of many long years in fantasy, careful studies have been
made of the science fiction reading public, tabulating their
likes and dislikes, their preferences and pet theories. And
after long deliberation, the editors arrived at the following
conclusions:

You asked for a large-size magazine; we have given it
to you. You asked for better fantastic fiction, covering
every phase of science and fantasy, of mystery and unusual
adventure, of strong action and plot, of good characteriza¬
tion and significance; we have given you all these. You
asked for two covers, both front and back, done by the
masters of science and fantasy artists. We have done that,
giving you the famous Paul on the back cover, with a new
feature that will eventually provide you with the most
amazing series of color paintings ever assembled. We have
presented the new sensation artist of science fiction, Robert
Fuqua, on the front cover. We have given you the finest
interior illustrations yet created by that master of the fan¬
tastic, Julian S. Krupa.

You asked for trimmed edges. We have given them to
you. You didn’t ask for four-color covers, because none
has dreamed that they would appear on any magazine save
the highly regarded “Slicks,” the quality magazines. But
we have given them to you. We have raised fantastic fiction
to the level of the quality magazines, and yet retained the
lusty appeal of the pulp field.

We have given you the most popular of all types of
features, from a comprehensive science-fantasy quiz to
actual fact articles of a fantastic nature, from a friendly
shoulder-to-shoulder editorial to a wide open reader de¬
partment.

In short, we have incorporated something new on every
page ef this new magazine, in direct defiance to that now

outmoded saying, “There’s nothing new under the sun.”

And as a worthy big sister to AMAZING STORIES, POP¬
ULAR PHOTOGRAPHY, POPULAR AVIATION, and
RADIO NEWS, whose combined editorial staffs have
worked to make the magazine the most sensational ever to
hit the stands, we proudly present this NEW member of a
famous family.

FANTASTIC ADVENTURES is your magazine, pre¬
pared especially for you. We know you will like it.

A READER recently questioned us regarding the reac-
tion of rockets in space. He contended that since space
is empty, the rocket gasses would have nothing to push
against, and therefore, he couldn’t see how the rocket would
move; that it would simply remain where it was and the
rocket gasses would fizz out and dissipate.

This seems to be one of the most common points that
puzzles the layman, and it should really be obvious that a
rocket is impeded by the presence of air, and works best
in empty space.

An ocean ship uses propellors which push against the
water and thus the ship moves. An airplane does the same
in air. But a rocket has no propellor. Its propulsion comes
from inside the ship. We have an open rocket tube which
is filled with gas and ignited. The resultant expansion of
gasses causes an “explosion.” Since only one end is open,
the gasses are directed out of that opening, and since this is
a positive action, there is a reaction. It is a simple law
of physics that every action has a reaction. We fire a gun.
It kicks back—not because it is in air. It would still kick
back in a vacuum. So does a rocket “kick back.” It is
really flying “backward,” the body of the rocket moving
away from the direction of the exploding gasses, by simple
recoil—or kick-back.

Thus, to even the most casual thinker, it should be per¬
fectly obvious that a rocket, both the body of it, and the
gasses, would be much freer to move in a vacuum than in
dense, impeding atmosphere. Have you ever stopped to
think of what would happen to a rocket in water? As¬
suming that it would not be extinguished, it would certainly
not travel as far as in air, since the enveloping medium is
so much more dense. So, in empty space, where there is no
enveloping medium at all, the rocket reaches its highest
efficiency.

E ARTH lovers like to sit and look at the moon, but we
wonder if they realize how the earth would look if they
were on the moon? They’d find a “moon” shining down on
them which would look almost thirteen times the size of the
sun! Nor would that moon ever set! On the moon, the
nights are 354 to 355 hours long, or nearly fifteen days.
(Continued on page 69)

f ADVENTURES

W VOLUME I MAY

NUMBER I 1939

CONTENTS

STORIES

REVOLT OF THE ROBOTS .by Arthur R. Tofte... 6

Jol Herrick thought he had created only a superwoman, but Tarra had deeper plans.

THE INVISIBLE ROBINHOOD.by Eando Binder. 16

Criminals and warlords feared him, good people loved him—but his own love he denied.

THE EMPRESS OF MARS.by Ross Rocklynne. 26

Into Mars’ most dangerous city went Darak, searching for a life-giving bracelet.

THE SLEEPING GODDESS.by [Maurice Duclos. 44

Sealed from the world, the valley evolved its peoples, guarded by a lovely sleeper.

ADVENTURE IN LEMURIA.by Frederic Arnold Kummer, Jr. 60

Khor the Wanderer finds the land of Mu a place of weird science and lusty adventure.

THE MUMMY OF RET-SEH.by A. Hyatt Verrill. 70

What strange secret of the ancient priests could cause hallucinations after centuries?

THE DEVIL FLOWER.by Harl Vincent. 80

Death’s whisper haunted Gregory Pines, and the devilish flowers were somehow responsible.

FEATURES

The Editor’s Notebook. 4 Quiz Page. 87

Fantastic Inventions. 25 Ray Holmes, Scientific Detective.. 88

Fantastic Hoaxes. 58 Readers’Page. 96

Introducing the Author. 84 The Man From Mars.97

Front cover by Robert Fuqua, depicting a scene in Revolt of the Robots
Back Cover by Frank R. Paul
Illustrations by Julian S. Krupa

FANTASTIC ADVENTURES

OF THE Robots

By Arthur R. Tofte

Ambition gripped Tarra Greghold, and she
sought to rule the world, unaware that a
robot mind could become ambitious as well

D EEP within Tarra Greghold raged a
fierce jealousy. The people of the year
2860 A. D. still felt the passions of
primitive man, but they had learned not to
show them. And Tarra, with her keen-eyed
personal robot, Q9T9, watching from the cor¬
ner, tried as well as she could to conceal her jealousy.

As she lay on the couch in her sun chamber, watch¬
ing the three dimensional screen on the ceiling, Tarra
was only an average girl of her time. The slight fuzz

of hair on the top of her head was straw-colored and
gave to her a look of baldness. Her chin was small,
and her thin cheeks were pinched and wan. Her slen¬
der legs and arms and almost childlike body, under

REVOLT OF THE ROBOTS

the sheer transparent covering of her gown showed
scrawny and weak as she stretched wearily. Tarra
Greghold was not beautiful, but by the standards of
her day, neither was she especially unattractive.

Tarra was in love with young Jol Herrick, the tall
slender biologist, who at that moment was giving his
final lecture before his class at the School of Science.
But in her jealousy she hardly listened to Herrick’s
words as she watched the faces of the girl students
who gathered around him, watching him work. These
girls, pale and thin and with fuzzy tops, were no pret¬
tier than herself, she felt, but among them must be
the one Herrick was choosing instead of her.

Then, as she watched, the girl on the couch saw the
young biologist, his smooth bald head glistening un¬
der the lights of the laboratory, take up a cage and
hold the opening to the door of a large glass cage on
the table. Out ran a white rat, and like the girls in
the laboratory, Tarra too was forced to gasp with

surprise. For the rat was the largest she had ever seen
in any laboratory experiment—almost twice as large
as a normal rat. Then, Tarra listened while Herrick
explained.

“For a month,” he said in his soft high voice, “I
have treated this rat with my new hormone com¬
pound, developed as you know from those new sub¬
stances brought back from Venus by the Justin
memorial expedition.”

Herrick proudly faced the students before him.

“Think what this means,” he said, “—a hormone
that will increase the strength and size of animals.
Who knows where this will lead! ”

And as he said this, the young biologist looked at
one of the girl students nearest him and smiled.

HpARRA, unable to watch any longer, motioned to
-*■ Q9T9 to shut off the connection. With a little
bow and a slight scrape of his gears as he got into mo-

FANTASTIC ADVENTURES

tion, the robot did as he was commanded. Weak flesh dies easily. You will all be dead. And then

“I, too, was watching,” Q9T9 said in the carefully only the robots will be left.”
worded manner of the servant robot kind.* “If my The girl shuddered and closed her eyes,
mistress wishes a suggestion, I have one.” “Dr. Herrick does not yet realize the importance of

“Speak up,” Tarra murmured wearily. his discovery,” Q9T9 said softly, “and should you go

“I can see that you are unhappy, my mistress,” the to him, offering yourself as the first human test. . . .”
robot said. “Perhaps my suggestion may help you.” Tarra looked up at her robot with wonder.

Tarra looked up from her couch at the four-foot “. . . When you are grown full and strong,” Q9T9

high robot and smiled wanly. continued slyly, “he will not fail to love you and

“You love Dr. Herrick,” the robot said bluntly, choose you for his mate.”
and came a step closer to the The girl on the couch moved

girl on the couch.

“Yes, I love Dr. Herrick,”
she admitted weakly. “But
how can you help me?”

The robot’s metallic eyes
sparkled eagerly.

“For seventeen generations I
have served you and your
maternal ancestors. Even in
that short time of 400 years I
have seen many changes. One
of the strangest, as you know,
was the law of fixed population
whereby no more births were
allowed than there were deaths
the previous year, and the right
to have children was granted by
law only to certain ones. You
are jealous because Dr. Herrick
has been chosen as a father in
the coming year—and you are
afraid that he will select one of
his girl students as his mate.”

“Yes, that is true,” Terra
murmured softly as she turned
her head away.

Q9T9 hesitated only a mo¬
ment and then continued.

“Dr. Herrick has made a
great discovery, but he fails . phrase mechanically,

to see its importance. He has shown that he has “In 2449,” he began, “a little more than four hun-
found a hormone capable of increasing the strength dred years ago, Julio Justin died. I was over a hun-
and size of animals. The human race is dying, dying dred years old at that time. You know, of course, that
from inaction and weakness. But humans are ani- he was the last of the great dictators. With tremen-
mals. Why can’t these new hormones be used to de- dous power and energy he came to be emperor of the
velop a new and stronger race of humans?” world. Under him there were no nations, no different

“But why should we be stronger and bigger?” peoples. Under him was one nation, one people. He
Tarra asked. “We have you robots to do our work.” was the last vestige of barbaric man.

“Yes, we do the work,” Q9T9 replied, “but unless “But even in his time,” Q9T9 went on, “men were
the human race is revitalized soon, there shall one weak. It was Justin’s sorrow and regret that he had

her limbs and sat up slowly.
The robot’s words had stirred
her as nothing in her life had
done before. '

“If I could be the only one to
be treated. . . ” she whispered
to herself.

“You can be,” the robot re¬
plied. “And if you make sure
that you are the only one, there
is no limit to what you can do.
You can do anything you wish.
Anything!”

CHAPTER II
Decathalon

HPARRA GREGHOLD
looked at her robot servant
closely, curiosity at last over¬
coming the jealous rage which
had been poisoning her mind.

“What do you mean that if I
am the only one to be treated I
can do ‘anything’?” she asked.

Q9T9 stared with his expres¬
sionless eyes at his mistress and
replied carefully, biting dff each

day come a time when there will be no more of you.

•Like all of mankind in this peaceful, calm age, every task was
performed by robots, even questions were answered. Q9T9, Tarra’s
robot, had been given the most advanced mechanisms. There was
hardly anything he couldn’t do. The history of the world, all the
great scientific truths of the ages, the knowledge of all time were
recorded indelibly upon his copper brain pan. She had only to
ask, and any important bit of information on anything that had
ever happened was immediately forthcoming. Q9T9 had been her
mother’s robot, and her mother’s mother’s, and on back for seven¬
teen generations.—Author.

no son to whom to leave the world empire he had
founded, for with his strong rule all wars were ban¬
ished and peace was everywhere. He wanted to carry
on his hope of building up the vitality of the hu man
race. At his death he left a will. In his will he estab¬
lished a world-committee to rule his empire from this
world-city of Shago—on one condition and with one
possible exception.”

“And what was that?” Tarra asked.

REVOLT OF THE ROBOTS

“Justin said in his will, that if anyone could ever
achieve the physical ability to break the decathalon
records established in the barbaric Olympics of the
20th century, that person could inherit his kingdom
and the rule of the world.”

Tarra stared at her robot. “And you think. . .
she whispered huskily.

“Yes,” the robot replied. “If you go to Dr. Her¬
rick and offer yourself as the first human test, you
may one day rule the world.”

Tarra leaned back on the
couch and laughed softly to
herself. And as she laughed,
plans formed in her head. Jeal¬
ousy and love hunger filled her
with a keen desire for a chance
to show Jol Herrick that she
was a woman to be respected
. . . and loved.

“I shall go to him at once,”
she said, and motioned to Q9T9
to help her rise from the couch.

There was a smile on the girl’s
face as she leaned on the robot
and went with him out through
a doorway to a little balcony
overlooking the great world-
city of Shago. She allowed her
servant to fasten her securely
in her private transport car and
then she touched a button that
sent the little car hurtling
through the maze of sky traffic
along a directional beam that
was clear and unobstructed.

N the three minute journey
to Herrick’s laboratory,

Tarra saw nothing of the great
domed glass sky overhead, built
by Julio Justin’s genius 400
years before, nor of the tall orderly rows of glass cylin¬
ders, five hundred feet high, in which people lived, nor
the flashing of cars hurtling past her on other direc¬
tional beams. Tarra’s thoughts were all of the young
biologist whom she loved.

After her car had come to rest on the narrow land¬
ing terrace jutting out from his laboratory on the 34th
floor, she allowed Herrick’s robot servant, V6X3, to
escort her in to the laboratory.

“Tarra,” the young scientist cried with surprise, “it
is good to see you again. You are not angry with me
any more, are you?”

The girl touched her lips to the young man’s smooth
cheek and smiled.

“No, I am not angry now. I’ve come to offer
amends. I heard your lecture this afternoon and I
want to be the first to try your hormones.”

“But a girl!” he exclaimed. “I should experiment
longer before I try it on a human being.”

“Think how it would bring fame to you,” she urged.
“And think what it would do for the human race.
You would be the most famous man in the world.”

“If I try it on a human, it should be on a man, not
a woman,” he declared.

“It would bring me fame, too,” Tarra replied soft¬
ly, coming closer to him and touching his soft hairless
face with her hand. “For my sake, will you?”

Jol Herrick laughed a quick nervous laugh as he
dismissed his fears. “All right,” he agreed. “We will
start the treatments tomorrow.
In three or four weeks we
should know the results.”

“In three or four weeks we
will be famous,” the girl de¬
clared. Then she called from
the doorway, “I’ll be back in
the morning.”

A FEW minutes later she was
in her own sun chamber,
Q9T9 removing the robe from
her shoulders.

“I saw and heard all,” the
robot said.

“Yes, and tomorrow I begin
the treatments,” Tarra cried as
she slipped wearily down on the
couch.

And in the days and weeks
that followed, during the proc¬
ess of being treated, Tarra
Greghold began to fill out, to
acquire a new voluptuous
roundness in her body. Her
eyes sparkled with new life.
Her hair grew long and heavy
and fell in a blond cascade
around her broadening shoul¬
ders, supple with new, firm
strength.

But Jol Herrick, in his eagerness to chart the
changes in the girl, failed utterly to perceive the grow¬
ing beauty of the girl. Tarra noted this with chagrin,
but managed to conceal her feelings. The time would
soon come, she felt, when he would be only too willing
to come to her.

The thought of her ultimate triumph when he
should finally realize how much superior she was to
her sisters, and when his emotions would be awakened,
as they must be, gave her great anticipatory pleasure.
In fact, as the days passed, she found herself experi¬
encing the gamut of human emotions as she never had
felt them—so intense, so strong, so vibrant.

And her brain worked amazingly well—so that she
planned for long hours, of the future.

And as the days went by, something strange and
fierce seized hold of her, a driving force that ate at her
mind like some atavistic hunger. With the growing
strength of her body, there came also a craving for

10

FANTASTIC ADVENTURES

power. It was like one of Herrick’s huge rats gnawing
at her vitals. She couldn’t stop now.

One day, in Herrick’s laboratory, she stood watch¬
ing his slender body now so much weaker than her
own. A smile of pleasure was on her lips.

“The treatments, you say, are over?” she asked
softly.

Herrick looked up and smiled wearily. The strain
of the past month had drained from him most of his
normal strength and vitality.

“Yes, they are over,” he replied as he looked proud¬
ly at her tensed body, now so round and full in the
clinging gown she wore. “They are over . . . and a
complete success. Perhaps now we can begin to re¬
store all mankind to full vitality and strength, as soon
as another expedition can be sent to Venus for more
of this hormone compound.”

“And in the meantime?” Tarra asked.

“Oh, I have enough of my compound in this re¬
frigerator to take care of half a hundred persons.”

“Half a hundred,” Tarra smiled wryly. “But how
will you convince the World Committee that your
hormone is a success? Not by treating a half hun¬
dred?”

“No,” Herrick nodded. “I think you are proof
enough. When I show them how much superior you
are to all other humans, they must believe.”

Tarra laughed. Back in her sun chamber Q9T9
would be watching her and listening to her at this mo¬
ment. Now was the time for her to strike her first
blow.

“I have been hoping you would say that,” she said.
“I have been preparing for it. For weeks I have been
training myself to do various athletic feats. Have you
ever heard of the ancient Olympics of the barbaric
20th century? They had a series of events they called
the decathalon, to discover which was the best all
’round athlete—running, jumping, throwing. The rec¬
ords set in 1964 have never been beaten. In the 21st
century, as you probably know, the Olympics were
dropped. Now, I believe I can break the Decathalon
record set in 1964!”

Jol Herrick looked at the girl with surprise and
nodded.

“It would be dramatic,” he said with a start. “The
World Committee would have to believe then.”

“Why not call a meeting of the Committee for to¬
morrow afternoon?” Tarra suggested. “Hold it in the
great central park in the city. I shall be there at fif¬
teen o’clock.”

And as Jol Herrick opened the door of his labora¬
tory for the girl to leave, his hand was trembling and
his pale blue eyes were glistening with moisture.

“Tomorrow will be the greatest day of my life,” he
said.

And a few minutes later, when Tarra had returned
to her apartment and was greeted by her robot slave,
she too threw back her head and said, “Tomorrow will
be the greatest day of my life.”

And then she looked at the little being before her
and added, “tonight you will go to Jol Herrick’s la¬
boratory and destroy all the hormone compound
which he has there. I want no rival.”

Q9T9’s cold metallic eyes sparked with electric in¬
tensity. “My mistress,’’ he said, “is proving that she
is worthy of being ruler of the world.”

CHAPTER III
Ruler of the World

nr ARRA GREGHOLD sat quietly in her transport
1 car with her robot slave as she watched with
amusement the arrival of the World Committee at the
meeting place in the great park. Old and feeble, most
of them were. They arrived singly, each with his
private robot supporting his tottering form. They
were thin and weak with deep sunken eyes and owl-
wise faces, and hairless, shiny pates.

Tarra, from the shelter of her car, watched Jol
Herrick talk to the forty or more members of the as¬
sembled Committee. She saw him display one of his
huge white rats. She saw him talk earnestly and
fervidly as old Dr. Netherstone, head of the Com¬
mittee, shook a bony finger under the young man’s
nose as though challenging him to prove what he had
said.

Then she saw Herrick turn in her direction and mo¬
tion to her to come forth from her private car.

Tarra stepped into view, and heard the cry of
amazement that went up from the members of the
Committee. She smiled to herself as she realized what
a sensation she must be to their pale eyes—like a
woman out of some ancient history book, an Amazon
direct from the war-filled 20th century or the even
more primitive periods. And as she walked straight
toward old Dr. Netherstone with mighty strides, she
saw the old philosopher blink and shake his head with
wonder.

“My name is Tarra Greghold,” she said to the Com¬
mittee in a strong, clear, vibrant voice. “I propose to
prove to you that I am as strong as Dr. Herrick has
just now told you. My robot has in his right hand a
timepiece such as the ancients used, with the same
time intervals that they used. Distances have been
marked off in the park here, as you note. I now fur¬
ther propose to attempt to break the decathalon rec¬
ords set in the Olympics of 1964.”

Tarra quietly waited, the smile still on her face, as
Jol Herrick quickly explained to the members of the
Committee what the Olympics were and what the De¬
cathalon events consisted of.

Then the girl nodded to her robot, and began one
by one, to go through the events of the ancient De¬
cathalon, running faster, jumping better, and throw¬
ing farther than any human had ever done before. At
the conclusion of the extraordinary performance, the
members of the Committee feebly gathered around
her, croaking their hoarse congratulations. Only Dr.
Netherstone shook his head in doubt.

REVOLT OF THE ROBOTS

'T'ARRA allowed Q9T9 to drape a robe around her
bare shoulders. Then she took a paper from her
robot and held it out to the tall, angular head of the
Committee.

“Doctor,” she said quietly, “this paper is a copy
of Julio Justin’s will written in 2449, just before he
died and left the world-empire to the Committee.
Surely you know of it?”

Dr. Netherstone lifted his eyes to the girl who tow¬
ered over him and at Jol Herrick who stood beside her,
and a look of sudden fear swept across his thin face.

“What does this mean?” the old philosopher asked.

“It means that I have just carried out the terms of
Julio Justin’s will—and I hereby claim the rulership
of the world. For over four hundred years you have
ruled by this will. I now dissolve the World Com¬
mittee—for always. Gentlemen, I am your new ruler
by Julio Justin’s own will!”

Tarra looked with continued amusement at the con¬
fusion her words had caused among the feeble mem¬
bers of the group. She saw with pleasure Herrick’s
complete bewilderment. And Dr. Netherstone was
squinting up at her as though he thought her mad.
Here was something, she knew, that these weak old
men were unable to answer. She knew that in this or¬
derly world where everything went by rote and right
that her legal claim was answerable. She had ful¬
filled the obligations of Justin’s will and centuries of
idle life and easy ways had made the entire human
race an easy prey to her physical superiority and
stronger will.

Tarra Greghold laughed an arrogant, disdainful
laugh. Then she turned to Q9T9 and said, “Take me
to the World Conference Hall. That will be my tem¬
porary palace until I can have a new one built.”

In the days that followed, the strong hand of Tarra
Greghold became all important through the huge
world city of Shago which she now dominated. Robots
and humans alike were mobilized to do her bidding.
Although no new building work had been done for
over four hundred years, Tarra ordered that a new
palace be built for her on the grounds of the great
central park in the middle of the city—a palace such
as even Julio Justin had never imagined.

It was not to be circular as were all the other struc¬
tures in the city, but cone-shaped with the top pin¬
nacle to be her living quarters. And the glass to be
used was not the semi-transparent material of the
other buildings, but an opaque glass that admitted
light and ultra violet rays of the sun and that allowed
her to look out without being seen—a glass whose use
had been known as early as the 20th century.

pvURING the first month, the various men and
women who were ordered to the task of working
on the new palace fell in their tracks. Some of them
died of burst hearts, utterly incapable of the sustained
physical effort which Tarra was now demanding of
them.

And Tarra, the new lust for power seizing her, or¬

dered that all robots be put under her will. She com¬
manded that each person who did not want to work
on the palace to come to her and voluntarily give up
his private robot, turning over to Tarra the will con¬
trol that held the robot in bondage.

Soon the girl was in control of the entire robot
population of the great world city—nearly ten million.
Ten million robots marched to her command. In the
meantime, tens of thousands of humans died from in¬
ability to take care of themselves. But the palace-
work went on. Robots worked by day and by night,
ceaselessly raising the palace, level upon level.

And then, one evening shortly after it was finished,
Tarra stood upon the topmost point of her towering
palace and looked out over the strangely motionless
city below her. Q9T9 stood beside her.

“These humans of yours are weak things,” QqTq’s
voice box clicked. “The city is too good for them.”

Tarra looked down at her little metal slave and
nodded.

“Exactly,” she agreed, “the city is too good for
these puny humans. They die like flies when they
have to work.”

“Why not outcast them to the great dry plains out¬
side the city’s dome and let them find their own shel¬
ter?” the robot suggested eagerly, his eyes sparkling.

“The city is of no use empty,” Tarra replied.

“There are ten million robots in the city. They
would give your city life and energy.”

“Life and energy!” Tarra repeated as she looked
up through the transparent dome overhead at the
night sky. “That is what I admire. I could be ruler
of a kingdom of deathless robots. I could achieve any¬
thing then—anything!”

“And there would be death to all humans?” Q9T9
asked slyly.

“There would be death to all humans,” Tarra re¬
plied. Then she paused as a new thought struck her.
“But when I died, who would lead the robots?”

Q9T9 replied with care. “Before you died, you
could command all robots to obey me, releasing your
will control to me. Then I would be ruler until the
rust of eternity struck at our vitals.”

Tarra Greghold looked down at her robot slave
suspiciously. “I’ll allow no ambitions, mechanical one.
until my normal life has ended.”

Then she sighed as she looked out over the vast
city, thinking of puny, weak Jol Herrick for whom she
had made all this effort, “If only there were a man
worthy of me in the whole world . . . perhaps then
there could be a race of humans worthy of inheriting
this empire and carrying on my work.”

But, as she spoke, QgTg’s eyes sparked maliciously.

CHAPTER IV
The Bearded Stranger

TN the terrible days that followed when Tarra Greg-
1 hold’s 20th century barbaric ruthlessness was at its

12

FANTASTIC ADVENTURES

height, she called meetings of thousands of humans at
a time and had them run through violent exercises.
Those that dropped from burst blood vessels and
ruptured hearts were hauled away by robots and
dumped into incinerators. The survivors dragged
themselves wearily back to their couches.

Tarra knew that the people feared her and hated
her, but with the new power and strength in her own
limbs came also a cruel lust for torture. As her body
had returned to the primitive state of the 20th cen¬
tury, so had her mind reverted to the original pas¬
sions of that mad, sentient period. The men—weak,
hairless, irresolute, bending to her will—aroused in
her only the utmost disdain.

Then one day it happened—

Word came to her that a man had been seized far
to the west of the city by a wandering group of her
robots searching through the ancient ruins of a semi-
barbaric city of the 21st century. But the strange
thing was that the man was taller than other men, big¬
ger of frame, stronger, and he had long black hair
on his head, and he was dressed in tattered rags.

When Tarra Greghold heard this news from Q9T9,
she tried to hide from him the sudden leap of her
pounding heart, the glow of eagerness that flushed her
cheeks. Something inside her seemed to tell that at
last he was come—the man she had been yearning
for, the man who would be a fit mate for her. She or¬
dered him brought to her at once.

A few hours later, Tarra stood in her central cham¬
ber in the apex of her conical palace, with Q9T9 at
her side, the two of them staring at the great gold
elevator doors that were slowly opening. Through the
doors came a small file of robots, bringing with them
in chains such a man as Tarra had never seen before.

He was taller by half a head than she. His black
hair reached almost to his shoulders. Fierce, dark
eyes stared back at her insolently. And Tarra could
see between the tatters of his clothes the bulging
muscles of his arms and thighs, supple and smooth
with youth. This man, she knew, was the man she
wanted for her mate! Tarra smiled. It was the first
real smile that had softened her face since she had
taken Jol Herrick’s hormones. And as she smiled, she
motioned to the muscular one to come closer. Then
she ordered the robots from the room.

“What is your name?” she asked. “And where do
you come-from?”

For a long moment, the huge man stood silently
gazing back into her eyes.

“Call me Jork,” he replied in a deep, rumbling voice.
Then he looked at her full, rounded figure. “And
I come from the same place you do.”

“But that is impossible,” Tarra replied. “I have
never heard of a man like you. I know there are no
more like me. I am the strongest person in the world.”

Jork looked at her. “Except for me,” he said coldly.

Tarra’s eyes narrowed and a quickening flush came
| to her cheeks. Slowly her fists clenched and un¬

clenched. The force of Herrick’s hormones had given
her tremendous powers of courage and love of cojn-
bat. And here before her stood, for the first time since
she had become a giantess among humans, another be¬
ing worthy of battle with her. Intuitively she felt that
she had to test his strength, to see if he really were fit
to be her mate and to help her start a new race of
super-humans.

“I am Tarra, ruler of the world—because I am the
strongest,” she cried with passion as she hit the
chained man across the face with the back of her
hand.

J ORK never blinked an eye nor moved a muscle. In¬
stead he continued to glare back insolently at her.
Suddenly the girl leaned toward him, her whole
manner softened. She caressed his hair with loving
and tender fingers.

“You have beautiful long hair,” she said softly.
“You and I were meant for each other. The rest of
humanity is not worth saving, but you and I—we have
a duty and a destiny. I am ruler of all this great world
city. You shall be my consort prince. You shall help
me rule a kingdom of robots.”

The man stirred restlessly under her caresses.
“And what if I refuse?” he asked disdainfully.
Tarra stepped back away from him and shook her
head. “You wouldn’t dare. I am ruler of Shago and
nothing can keep me from what I want. And I want
you.”

“And if I accept,” the brawny one’s voice rumbled.
Tarra smiled. “We shall be the only human beings
in a world of robots. Ten million of them, there are,
to do our bidding. There is nothing we can’t have,
nothing we won’t be able to do.

“First we shall kill off all human beings—they are
of no use. Then we shall set out to do all the things
the human race has never been able to do. Perhaps
we can set up regular communication with Venus. Not
just one trip like the Justin Memorial Expedition—
but a regular service. Perhaps we can wage war—
real war—with the Venusians and bring them under
our control. They are probably more worthy of living
than our earthly humans. We might re-colonize earth
with them, flesh and blood slaves to wait on us and
our robots. We shall build more and greater cities
like Shago and make use of all those waste lands which
history tells us once were fertile and teeming with peo¬
ple.

“Some day,” she continued, “I shall be empress of
a greater world than has ever been, and you will be
my first assistant.”

Jork grinned with sardonic disdain.

“I too, know something of history,” he said. “And
if I remember correctly, the barbaric 20th century
was full of men — dictators they called them — who
were as mad as you. They thought they could kill
and pillage and dominate their world as you now want
to dominate yours. But history also tells us that they

REVOLT OF THE ROBOTS

13

had their short day, and it was soon over and that even
Julio Justin was but a brief throwback to that day.
And now you come, you with your return of the bar¬
baric lust—and all because of Herrick’s hormones!”

Tarra recoiled with surprise. “What do you know
about Herrick’s hormones?” she cried.

“What do I know about them?” Jork replied bit¬
terly. “I know everything about them, for I am Jol
Herrick!”

CHAPTER V
The Robot Army

“VTDU—Jol Herrick!” Tarra cried in amazement.

“But I had all your compound destroyed. You
can’t be Herrick.”

The huge man squared his broad muscular shoul¬
ders.

“Yes, you destroyed all my compound as I found
when I returned from that test in the park. But you
forgot the rats that I treated. I made new compound
from those rats. Then I went away from the city. I
treated myself. I wanted to find a way to destroy you.
Then your robots found and brought me here.”

The man lifted the heavy gold chains that held his
arms together.

“These may hold me now,” he said coldly, “but
some day I shall destroy you.”

Tarra sank back on a couch. Everything that she
had hoped and yearned for was slipping away from
her. Then she sprang to her feet and rang for her
robot slave.

“I’ll make you surrender to me,” she said fiercely.
“I’ll have you beaten and tortured until you are ready
to come to me on your hands and knees.”

The doors of the golden elevator clicked behind her,
and she turned to see Q9T9 looking at them with a sly
glint in his eyes.

“You rang for me?” the robot asked.

Tarra nodded toward Herrick. “Have you known
all along who he is?”

Q9T9 bowed slightly. “Yes, my mistress. I thought
it would give you pleasure to find out for yourself. I
am only four hundred years old, you know, and I am
not accustomed to your present 20th century mental
and physical condition.”

Tarra looked from her robot to Herrick.

“Take him,” she commanded, “to the torture room
on the 77th floor. I’ll show him a few samples of the
ancient forms of torture.”

A few minutes later, Q9T9 was back, bending with
his mechanical bow to her.

“Your man,” he clicked out the words, “is fastened
to the rack of the ancient Inquisition. He awaits your
pleasure.”

“You have done well,” Tarra said distractedly.
Then she turned and looked at her robot closely.

“Once you made a suggestion, mechanical one, that
brought me to the rule of the world. Perhaps you have

a suggestion now that could win this man to me.”

Q9T9 stood motionless, his glass lens eyes staring
straight before him.

“Yes, I have a suggestion, my mistress,” he replied.

“What is it?”

Q9T9 stiffened slightly as though there were an ac¬
tual physical flesh and blood surge in him to increase
his stature. Then he replied—

“As ruler of the world you can never win this man.
No man’s love can be won on the torture rack. It is
as a woman that you must win him. For as he is the
only man in the world fit to be your mate, so you are
the only woman in the world worthy of him. Go to him
as a woman, offering him your love and an equal share
in your rule.”

“T)UT I can’t do that. I am the ruler—I shall never
^ give that up!”

“Of course not,” Q9T9 insisted. “But you can ap¬
pear to. Give me temporary rule over the will-con¬
trols of the robots. You can then go to him, not as
world ruler but as a woman. In the meantime I will
wait for you to return. The plan is the only one that
will succeed.”

Tarra Greghold shook her head doubtfully. But
she walked over to the instrument-panel on the gold
desk, touched a button that tuned her in to every one
of the ten million robots in the world city.

“Hear me, robots of Shago,” she said. “Until I re¬
turn you will take your orders from Q9T9. Your will-
controls for that time will be under his command.”

Then Tarra walked over to the gold elevator. But
before she entered the cage, she faced her robot slave

again.

“And just to make certain that you do not play me
false, ambitious one, I retain my will-control over you
and I order you not to leave this room until I return.”

The girl stepped back into the elevator. It was not
until the doors were closing behind her that she saw
Q9T9 hurrying to the gold desk to touch the button
that would put him in contact with the ten million
robots. A moment of suspicion seized her, but the
doors closed and she dropped in an instant to the 77th
floor, doubt and fear momentarily forgotten.

As she left the elevator and walked past the guard
of robots who stood outside the double-thick doors of
the ancient torture room, she noticed their rapt at¬
tention as though they were listening to a message.

She motioned to one of the robots to open the doors
for her. He didn’t move—an unthinkable failure to
obey! With a gasp of exasperation, Tarra seized the
door handles and drew it open. Then as she stepped
into the torture room, she turned and looked at the
group of robots.

They were marching stiffly toward her.

“CTOP where you are,” she cried.

The robots marched closer. Something was
wrong. Then she realized that she no longer had hold
over their will-controls. Could Q9T9 really have
played her false?

14

FANTASTIC ADVENTURES

The thought struck her like a blow, sending her
reeling back into the room. Quickly she bolted the
doors on the inside. Had all this scheme merely been
a plan of her own robot’s to gain control over her?

In her bewildered mind, the pieces of the puzzle
began to fit together—QcjTys first suggestion about
world power, his advice to kill off all humans, his idea
Of releasing the will-controls of ten million robots to
him. It was all clear to her now.

Not- seeing the man stretched grotesquely on the
torture rack, Tarra ran to the side of the room and
looked out through the glass walls at the scene far
below. Thousands and tens of thousands of robots
were marching steadily toward the conical tower. From
all directions they came, marching in that queer
strained, not quite stiff way of theirs. And on they
came, crowding on each other’s heels, millions of them,
coming at the bidding and command of her own robot
slave, Q9T9.

For the first time she noticed the man on the rack.
She went over and released his bonds.

When he had rubbed his arms and legs and restored
their circulation, Tarra took him over to look down on
the sight in the area around the conical tower. Mil¬
lions of robots were now there, milling around, wait¬
ing for further command from Q9T9.

She pointed down. “And like a fool, I gave con¬
trol of the robot army to my personal robot, Q9T9.
He has used me to get the rule of the world himself.
You’ve got to help me get out of this.”

The huge man beside her smiled wryly. “A while
ago you spoke of torturing me. Now you beg my help.
Why should I help?”

Tarra drew herself to her full height and looked
Herrick full in the eyes. But before she could speak,
he seized her by the shoulders and held her firmly at
arm’s length from him.

“When you were in the saddle,” he said to her, his
lips narrowing into a fine line, “it was all right for you
to kill off thousands of poor, weak human beings. That
satisfied your hunger for power and your appetite for
cruelty. But now, when your own life is in danger,
you beg me to help you, to save you.

“Listen closely,” he rumbled from deep in his beard,
“I’ve waited for this moment ever since that day in
the park when you broke old Doctor Nether stone’s
heart. You got yourself into this mess—now get your¬
self out of it 1 ”

CHAPTER VI
The Crusaders’ Battle Axe

HPARRA said not a word as she recoiled back from
•*" the vehemence of the young scientist’s accusation.
Further and further she shrank back into herself. All
the months of rule and power began to dissolve into a
mist as though it had never happened. All the urging
in her body for ruthless rule lost itself in a realization
that she was in love with this strange, powerful,

man who had the peaceful eyes of Jol Herrick but the
voice and body of a Viking god. This man suddenly
became more important to her than anything she had'
ever known before, more important even than the
death that waited for her outside the door.

Without realizing quite what she was doing, she
threw her arms around Herrick’s neck and pressed her
lips to his.

“If you won’t help me to live,” she cried, “then help
me to die.”

Herrick pushed her away from him with violence.

The girl threw herself at his feet. “This room is
filled with instruments of torture weapons of death
and of warfare out of the ancient days,” Tarra sobbed.
“Choose any of them and kill me. That is all I de¬
serve.”

Herrick stepped back away from her just as a heavy
thud sounded at the great golden doors. He looked at
the doors and then around at the haphazard collection
of ancient relics that filled the room.

Disregarding the girl completely, he walked around
picking up a device here and there. A huge battle axe
dating from the 13th century crusade made his eyes
light with pleasure as he swung it in a half arc about
his head. Another queer metal object drew his atten¬
tion. He held it awkwardly in his hands, examining
it carefully. Touching a certain spot, he was startled
when the device roared into action and he saw a row
of neat round holes appear in the wood rack across
the room. He looked at it closer.

He picked up another object. Aiming it away from
himself, he touched a series of knobs and levers and
suddenly an electric flame shot forth. This, too, he
knew was a weapon of ancient times.

Tarra, from her place on the floor, watched the
man go from object to object. Finally he turned and
came toward her.

“What chance have we if they break down the
doors?” he asked her.

Tarra shook her head. “Our only hope is to get
back up to the tower room where Q9T9 is. When I
gave him power over the will-controls of the robots, I
retained my power over his will-control and I forbade
him from leaving that room. As long as he can keep
me from him, he is master of the robots. If we can
win our way to him, I can get back the will-controls
over the robots.”

TTERRICK looked at her and smiled. “For the
first time in my life I face a fight. And I find
I like the idea. If I must die, I want to die fighting.
And with these strange weapons . . . perhaps we
may win.”

At that instant, the girl screamed as the gold doors
crashed in and robots tumbled into the room. .

“Stay close behind me,” Herrick ordered, and he
swung around to face the oncoming robots.

With a roar of joy, he pressed the trigger on the
machine gun and sent a whiplash of bullets that cut
down the front ranks of the mechanical beings. It

REVOLT OF THE ROBOTS

IS

was chaos at once—with those that were shot down
still trying to advance although their lower propelling
mechanisms had failed. It was like legless men try¬
ing to walk. And behind them pushed hordes more
of robots, blindly advancing on the couple in the
room.

But soon the sheer weight of the metal robots them¬
selves, pushing forward on the front immobile ranks,
began to crush those in front and in the middle. There
was a steady crunch of breaking metal as the mechan-
, ical beings kept pushing forward hopelessly against
1 those in front, even before the machine gun was empty
and had to be thrown aside.

Tarra smiled up at Herrick as he turned to look at
her. “Rather horrible, isn’t it?” she said.

Herrick looked across the mass of metal robots,
and the girl could see him grinning to himself.

“If we get up on top that table over there,” he said
i to her, “we can jump over on to the bodies of the ro¬
bots and walk on top of them as far as the elevators.
The central cage is empty, I can see.”

Tarra and Herrick leaped lightly to the table top.
But before climbing out over the sea of robots that
stretched before them to the doors, Herrick picked up
the battle axe and the electric flame thrower. With
these under his arm, he helped Tarra in jumping from
i one robot head to the next, like crossing a brook on
small stones.

Once in the gold elevator, the two breathed easier.
Up they shot to the apex of Tarra’s conical palace.

“If I can but come face to face with Q9T9, he will
i have to obey me,” Tarra stated. “He is under my
will-control the moment I face him.”

As the elevator stopped and the doors slid quietly
open, Herrick stood firm, his flame thrower ready.

Tarra screamed as a score of robots came rushing
into the small cage, giving the two no chance to get
out into the room beyond. With the fighting instinct
of a cornered animal, Herrick let loose the jet of flame
from the flame throwing machine.

There was a sudden flash and the robot directly in
front of Herrick sank to his knees and fell forward.
As his head slipped by Herrick, the metal seared a
path across his arm—the robot’s head was red hot!

Again the flame roared forth with the force of a bolt
; of lightning, and again, and again. And each time, a
robot fell, his metal mechanisms fused together in the
terrific heat of the electric flame.

Then, suddenly, the flame throwing machine was
dead . . . useless. And in that same instant, before
the rest of the robots could corner them in the cage,
the two leaped out into the room.

'T'ARRA shrank back behind Herrick as she saw
the remaining half dozen robots advancing on them
—coldly, unemotionally, ruthlessly, obeying a com¬
mand they had no capacity to disobey.

She saw Herrick hunch his powerful shoulders in
eagerness. Then she watched as he leaped forward,
the great huge battle axe swinging in a vast circle over

his head. And she heard his cry of joy as the axe
crunched deep into the metal brain pan of the first
robot.

From behind him, she watched the fierce battle that
ensued. Once the robots had Herrick almost sur¬
rounded and were coming at him from all sides. But
the next instant he swung the axe low, like some an¬
cient Crusader cutting a swathe through the lines of
the Saracens. With the last swing of the great two
bladed axe, Herrick brought down one of the two re¬
maining robots, but the ancient shaft broke in his
hands.

The last robot came unswerving toward Herrick
and the huge man spread his legs apart to meet the
rush of the other. With his bare hands, he seized the
robot and bent it over. The muscles on his back and
arms stood out as he struggled with the metal being,
but gradually inch by inch, the robot began to bend,
the metal plates cracking under the terrific strain.
When Herrick stood erect, he turned and faced Tarra,
blood flowing from a dozen or more wounds. A smile
was on his lips.

“I never knew what joy it is to fight,” he said.

Then the two humans, remembering what they had
come for, stepped around the elevator shaft and ap¬
proached the gold desk at which Q9T9 was standing.

“Order the robots to halt where they are,” com¬
manded Tarra, facing the robot.

Stiffly Q9T9 bowed and gave the order. The dull
thunder of moving robots below ceased and all be¬
came quiet.

“Now disconnect your metal brain,” Tarra went
on relentlessly.

The robot’s hands moved to obey.

“No!” snapped Herrick suddenly. “Tell him to
stop.”

With a question in her eyes Tarra obeyed, turning
to Herrick in puzzlement. He met her gaze levelly.

“Tell him to give me absolute control of the ro¬
bots,” he demanded.

For an instant Tarra stared, then obediently she
gave the command. “I am yours to rule as you will,”
she murmured softly, “and to prove it I surrender also
the will-control of Q9T9.”

With a gleaming exultance in his eyes, Herrick
snatched her to him and planted a kiss on her lips.
Then he strode to the instrument panel, threw the
switch and spoke with firm decision.

“Robots of Shago, all of you, disconnect your brain
controls! ”

Beside him, Q9T9’s metallic arms obeyed, in com¬
pany with every other robot in Shago. As the last
wire was severed, his metal body crashed to the floor,
a limp heap of cold metal. From the floors below,
and from the street outside, came a great crash of col¬
lapsing metal bodies, then silence; silence that was
not disturbed.

“The new Adam and Eve will need no robots,” said
Herrick masterfully as he took Tarra into his arms.

16

17

^INVISIBLE

ROBINHOOD

BY EANDO BINDER

Unseen, relentless, the Invisible Robinhood
stalked crime rings and war lords. Ted Marne
and Leda Norris knew his name but neither
knew the awful secret he bore

T HE young couple strolled down
the deserted midnight street.

The party had been fun and
they were still laughing. They had de¬
cided to walk a ways, in the cool night
air, before taking a subway. They were
too absorbed in their conversation to
think of danger as they passed the
black patch of an unlighted gangway.

“Stick ’em up!” came the command.

Something hard jabbed in the young man’s back.
The girl started to give a shriek, but was silenced by
the harsh voice of the bandit who had loomed out of
the shadows.

“Take it easy, sister. You don’t want your boy¬
friend shot, do ya? Hand over your stuff. No fuss,
now—”

After a hopeless glance up and down the street, the
young man gave up his wallet, watch and gold stick¬
pin. The girl was forced to give her pocketbook, ear¬
rings and silver bracelets. She fumbled nervously.
Impatiently, the gunman clutched at the locket around
her neck.

“Oh, not that!” gasped the girl. “I’ve had it all
my life—please—”

“Shut up!” growled the bandit. “I take what I
want. I’ll have that locket, too—”

“I don’t think you will!” said another voice. The
gunman whirled, tensely, ready to shoot. He saw
nothing to shoot at. But something like a steel hand
grasped his wrist and twisted it sharply. He dropped
his gun with a cry of agony.

“Rat! Preying on people like a vulture—” said the
ghostly voice again, from empty air.

Something like an iron fist cracked against the ban¬
dit’s jaw, snapping his head back. The gunman tried
to run away, but an unseen fist struck him in which¬
ever direction he tried. Again and again blows landed
till the robber dropped unconscious, with blood
streaming from his battered face.

The young couple, arms tightly entwined, had
watched with paralyzed amazement. Now they saw
an invisible something retrieve their stolen articles
from the prone man’s pockets. The articles formed

themselves into a little heap on the sidewalk.

“There you are!” spoke the disembodied voice.
Then they heard soft footfalls retreating down the
street. But they saw only the bare sidewalk!

T TP in a small office perched like an eyrie on the 44th
floor of the office building, “Doc” Hdbson rubbed
his hands gleefully. He opened the last envelope, took
out the dollar bill enclosed, and tossed the coupon on
the floor with hundreds of others.

The discarded coupon read—“Please send me the
56-page booklet on How To Grow New Luxuriant
Hair, even though completely bald, with the scalp-
massage method, by Dr. Fred Hobson, world-famous
authority on this method. I enclose herewith a dollar
bill. My name is—”

There were spaces then for name and address, with
a heavy-print note at the bottom stating a money-
back-in-five-days guarantee, if not satisfactory.

“The laugh is, we don’t even send ’em a booklet!”
chortled Hobson, raising his hand to pat his own bald
head. “I’d like to use the method myself—if I knew
it! Now come on, Kirby, and help me pack these
bills together in bundles of a hundred.”

“A pleasure, doctor! ” grunted Jack Kirby, his part¬
ner in their bold swindle. They laid dollar bills care¬
fully on top of one another and pasted strips of paper
around bundles of a hundred.

“Eleven hundred and fifty-eight today,” declared
Doc Hobson when they were done. He locked the
door carefully and then opened their safe. They took
out the other packets of dollar bills therein and heaped
them on the desk.

“Ten grand in ten days!” summarized Hobson.

18

FANTASTIC ADVENTURES

"We’ll take these to the bank now, have them changed
to big bills, and skip the city. The Federal agents will
be on our trail any day now, for defraud through the
mails. Ten grand—not a bad haul! ”

Kirby laughed, tossing a pack in the air and catch¬
ing it. “And all it cost us was two week’s rent here,
and a couple hundred in advertising. That’s what I
call profit!”

“What do you say we take a run down to Palm
Beach and blow ourselves to a good time—on other
people’s hard-earned dough?” suggested Doc Hobson.

“Good idea!” exclaimed Kirby, tossing the packet
in the air again.

But this time he did not catch it. The packet mys¬
teriously stopped in mid-air and then seemed to float
toward the window.

“What the hell!” gasped Kirby, passing a hand in
front of his eyes.

Hobson stared, paralyzed at the phenomenon.

At the open window, the strip binding of the packet
ripped open and the dollar bills flung themselves out
into the wind. Fluttering and twisting, they fell to¬
ward the ground, like a shower of green rain.

“The wind is blowing just right,” said a voice from
in front of the two frozen men. “The money will drift
into the tenement district a few blocks away. The
people thfire can use the money more than you two—
gentlemen!”

The disembodied voice went on calmly, as Hodson
finally made a move.

“Put down that gun, Hobson—excuse me— Dr.
Hobson! I have you covered. Besides, you don’t
know what to shoot at or where.”

Another packet rose off the desk, floated to the win¬
dow and was there dispersed out into the open air.

“Don’t try to stop me,” said the voice. “I’d just
as soon shoot you as not. Jack, be a good boy and
hand me the packets. Hobson, you help too. In fact
you, Hobson—you scatter these bills, as I showed
you how.”

The men had to obey, under threat of bullets that
might snuff out their cowardly lives. Hobson stood at
the window, and as Kirby handed him the packets, he
broke the bands and flung the money out.

“Isn’t it fun?” said the unseen voice sweetly.
“Look how pretty those bills twinkle as they drift
down!”

But Hobson and his partner did not see anything
pretty in the sight. They were sick. It wasn’t so
much the loss of the ten thousand dollars they had so
cleverly swindled. It was the thought of their utter
helplessness against this invisible presence that struck
cold terror in their dazed minds.

VX7'OODROW JONES stepped forward before the
' ' loudspeaker microphone. Adopting the look of
a patriarch about to address his flock, he raised his
arms. The crowd fell silent, in the rally hall.

“My worthy friends,” he began in his sonorous
voice. “I am not here to make an empty speech full

of double-edged promises. I’m going to get right
down to brass tacks. Our platform guarantees five
things. First is the matter of schools, for your chil¬
dren and mine. We’ll build new schools, modern,
splendid, worthwhile—”

“But very expensive to the taxpayers!” interrupted
a soft voice directly in Woodrow Jones’ right ear.

The politician had choked on his last word, star¬
tled. He looked around to see who had spoken, but
there was no one nearer than those seated on the plat¬
form, twenty feet back of him. What was the mat¬
ter with him, thinking he was hearing things?

He turned back to the crowd, excused himself for
the pause and went on. “Secondly, I have fool-proof
plans for reducing taxes, in six months, to two-thirds
of their present rate. And—”

“Of course,” said the mocking voice in his ear,
“after that the taxes will strangely rise higher—and
higher—”

This time Woodrow Jones was definitely taken
aback. He had heard the voice as plainly as if some¬
one stood at his very side. Yet the limelighted stage
was barren of a soul. Jones’ men in back of him
looked at him blankly, wondering why he stared
around so queerly. They had obviously heard noth¬
ing.

Jones’ amplified voice went on, but it was a little
unsure now. He got through the taxation matter and
launched into item three on his election platform.

“Extensive park improvement has long been needed
in this district. We have a budget for that, which
provides for the best of swimming pools, ball grounds,
landscaping, and—”

“And which also, Woodrow Jones, provides for a
large amount of graft for you and your group!” The
voice in his ear again, unmistakable.

Woodrow Jones’ nerves pounded. His fat cheeks
quivered. He didn’t want to go on. He almost felt
sick. Yet he knew he must go on, or probably lose
the election. He went on. His voice had a quaver
to it and the audience stared at him closely. Al¬
ready they sensed the exposed insincerity in his tone.
His friends back of him looked worried.

“Item four on our platform—I am going to see to
it that each and every destitute family in our district
is taken care of properly. Since this matter is close
to my heart, I’ve gone to the extent of compiling a
list of such needy cases—”

“Could you produce this mythical list, Mr. Jones?”
asked the unseen voice back of his head.

Though the evening was cool, Jones took out a
handkerchief and mopped his perspiring brow. His
speech, as he went on desperately, began to blossom
out with “ers” and “ahs” and coughs and hesitations.
No one knew how much he was suffering.

“And now the—er—last and perhaps most impor¬
tant part of our platform—reduction of racketeering.
I’m going to stamp it out. I—”

“Is that so?” spoke the voice that was so much
like his conscience. “Last night you and your col-

THE INVISIBLE ROBINHOOD

leagues, in a secret meeting, promised the racketeering
interests that they would not be unduly prosecuted—
for a cut! What about that, Mr. Jones?”

Woodrow Jones swayed a little, speechless. To the
audience, he seemed to be listening, but there was
nothing to listen to! Yet he was listening, to some¬
thing they couldn’t hear.

“You know you’re a bald-faced hypocrite!” said
the plaguing voice at his elbow. “Tissues, lies, rot¬
ten deception is what you’ve just passed out. How
can you stand there like a noble leader when you’re
nothing but a cheap, chiseling grafter? Have you
heard of Inferno, Jones? When you get there, you’ll
make lying campaign speeches endlessly, with this
voice in your ear!”

Woodrow Jones’ face turned putty-colored. His
friends leaped forward as he tottered a little. But be¬
fore they came up, the voice had said: “You won’t
run for the election, Jones. Because if you do, this
voice of your conscience will haunt you to the insane
asylum!”

Jones went temporarily mad. In a screaming voice
he renounced his candidacy. Fighting off his cohorts
who tried to drag him away, he shrieked out the con¬
fession that all he had said was a pack of lies.

CHAPTER II
A Midnight Visitor

T EDA NORRIS awoke in the dead of the night
with a queer, stifled feeling that some one had
come into her bedroom. She had heard nothing, and
could see nothing as she snapped on her bedside lamp,
but the sensation did not leave her.

Some thing—some presence —was in her room!

She tried to convince herself that she was being
silly, but terror rose in a swift tide as she seemed to
hear footfalls going toward the open window. But
not a thing was to be seen that might cause such a
sound! She opened her mouth to scream—

“Leda! Leda, please don’t be frightened!” said a
voice.

The curtains at the window moved. Something
seemed to be going out to the fire escape.

The girl’s terror drained out with a rush. “Lyle!”
she called eagerly. “Lyle Trent! Is it you? I can’t
see you, but it was your voice—”

The curtains remained rigidly spread for a moment,
then rustled back into place. Soft footfalls came to¬
ward the bed.

“Yes, Leda, it’s I,” returned the man’s voice, from
a spot over her upturned face. “I’m invisible, by a
scientific trick. But I’m here, in the flesh. I hadn’t
meant you to awake, or talk to you. I just came to
see your face, in the moonlight—” The voice faltered.

Leda Norris sat up wonderingly. “Oh, Lyle, it’s
so good to hear your voice again! But why are you
invisible?” She shuddered a bit. “It’s almost like
talking to a ghost!”

19

“Turn off the light,” suggested the invisible man.
“That way you won’t notice so much. I’ll have to re¬
main—invisible.”

The girl obeyed, puzzled. The side of her bed
creaked as the unseen man sat down on it.

As Trent remained silent, she spoke again. “Lyle,
why haven’t I heard from you for two years? Two
long, eternal years! I meant what I said before you
left to study in Europe—that I’d wait. I’d wait for¬
ever for you, Lyle. I still—”

“No, Leda,” interrupted Trent. “We—we mustn’t
talk of those things. I’d hoped you had forgotten.”

“I see.” Leda’s voice broke. “You don’t care for
me any more. There’s another woman, Lyle? Don’t
be afraid to tell me. After all, two years is a long
time—”

“No,” said Trent. “There’s no other woman.”
He paused. “I still love you, Leda—and always will.”

“Then why—”

“Let me explain. You remember the accident I
had while at Leyden—an explosion in the physics lab¬
oratory?”

“Yes, that was the last I heard from you.” Leda
caught her breath. “I was so worried for you, Lyle!
You didn’t write me much about it. Did you get
hurt?”

“Oh, slightly. But that explosion was really the
key to my researches. It was caused by the transfer
of light-energy through a shield of solid metal. I
won’t go into detail, Leda, but when a light photon
hits an atom, an electron in the atom jumps to a new
orbit. When the electron jumps back, the photon is
released. The photon, if given enough stimulus, will
jump from atom to atom, and will eventually work
its way through solid matter. And almost at its orig¬
inal speed of light.”

“I have a modification of that first crude shield
completely surrounding my body. It’s really a flex¬
ible, ventilated metal mesh, not very heavy, with in¬
terstices so fine that the human eye cannot see them.
I can breathe comfortably, perspire normally and
move freely. But you can’t see either me or my suit
of mesh. The mesh carries a certain fine electric cur¬
rent, from special batteries at my waist, which kicks
the light photons along as they arrive. For instance,
a light photon striking my back is kicked right
through my body to my front, and there radiated—
as though I hadn’t been in its way in the first place.

“And that’s the reason I’m invisible, because light
goes through me, even more perfectly than light pene¬
trates glass* There was just one other detail. I had

* This is a very logical means of invisibility. Photons, recently
discovered, are corpuscles of light energy, which like radio, travel in
wave lengths, rather than like the waves of the sea, i.e., they are
associated mathematical quantities. Photons, or Light Quanta, as
they were formerly called, are ejected from alkaline metals at high
speed, depending upon the frequency of the light. Einstein has shown
that a photon has kinetic energy, which therefore would theoretically
react as Lyle Trent’s discovery revealed to him. Provided the
metallic ejection medium was present, the result would be invisibility
through lack of interception of the light quanta.—Ed.

20

FANTASTIC ADVENTURES

to devise a way to see, for the light photons are kicked
past the retinas of my eyes too. I wear a pair of in¬
tricately designed goggles whose lenses intercept and
change ultra-violet rays to visible radiations for my
eyes. Things look a bit queer to me, but I see almost
as well by that means as normally. But that’s enough
explanation of the scientific end of it.”

to talk to you for a while. Goodbye, Leda—darling! ”
Footfalls went toward the window, the curtains
bent aside, and the unseen man was gone as though
he had been no more than the breeze that blew in from
the river.

CHAPTER III

T EDA had listened attentively. “Lyle, you’re a
wonderful scientist,” she breathed. “I always
knew you would be. I’m proud of your ability—”

Trent interrupted almost harshly.

“But after I’d perfected this means of invisibility,
Leda, it occurred to me what it would mean, if I let
it out. I thought of invisible spies! Invisible armies!
Invisible deeds of crime!”

He let out his breath sharply.

“I decided my discovery must remain a secret with
myself. I didn’t publish my results. I almost came
to the point of destroying all my notes and apparatus.
Then I thought of another thing. In the right hands,
the power of invisibility could be a beneficent thing.
And because I couldn’t trust anyone else, with any
certainty, I decided to apply its benefits myself.”

Something gripped Leda’s hand suddenly, an in¬
visible hand covered with what felt like smooth, flex¬
ible steel.

“Leda, I’m devoting my life to this venture. I’m
going out in the world and do what I can for its bet¬
terment. I’m going to track down dangerous crim¬
inals, break up crime-rings. With my invisibility I’m
going to ferret out all that’s rotten and wrong and
bring it to light. The dark things can’t stand light.”

He gave a short, earnest laugh. “I’m going to start
a one-man reform. I may not get as far as I hope,
but I’m going to try my best!”

The girl squeezed the metal hand impulsively, un¬
mindful of the sharp tingle of electricity from the con¬
tact.

“Is it any wonder that I loved you from the start,
Lyle? I could see into your soul—”

“Leda—” Trent’s voice became solemn and heavy.
“Leda, you see now, don’t you? That I must devote
all my time and energy, all my life, to this thing. I
want you, but it would be unfair to marry you—under
these circumstances. My activities will take me all
over the country, perhaps over the world. I might
not see you for months at a time. It wouldn’t work
—it can’t be. You must forget me—”

The girl was sobbing. “I understand,” she choked.
“But, Lyle, can’t I see you—just once—it’s been two
years—”

“No!” Trent said firmly. “If you did, it would
make it harder—for both of us. It’s bad enough that
I can see you, look at your eyes, and think of—what
might have been.”

A floorboard creaked as he arose.

“I came back today because this is the anniversary
of our first meeting. Remember?—the prom—moon¬
light ride—. I’ll come back once a year, on this day,

Trent Begins His Mission
“/'"'’OME in, Steve.”

^ Politician Steve, chewing an unlighted cigar,
waited till the secretary had gone out. Then he turned
to the fat, thick-lipped man behind the desk.

“Okay. Spill it, Pete,” he said. He glanced once
more around the room to make sure they were alone.
No one else was in the room besides the two men. He
could see that. >

Lawyer Pete licked his fat lips and began. “The
tenement district in Ward Six has been condemned
by the mayor. My client—you know who—doesn’t
want those buildings torn down. They have standing
value. Suppose we remodeled them instead?”

He smirked knowingly.

“You know, they can be fixed up pretty nice for
about a hundred grand. My client can then raise the
rent and clear fifty grand in a year. If you can square
it with the City Hall, your—er—share would be iofo.
What do you say, Steve?”

Jake’s mangled cigar traveled from one corner of
his grin to another. “You taking me for a sucker,
Pete? Make it 20% and I’ll play ball. I’m risking
a lot; finagling the court records and all.”

“All right,” growled the fat lawyer. “It’s a deal.
We’ll start remodeling in a month. And of course,
we’ll use the very best of materials!” He smirked
again.

Steve laughed. “Yeah, sure. I can imagine that
gouger, Paulson, giving out any more than—”

“Ssh, damn you!” warned the lawyer. “I’ve told
you my client’s name must never be mentioned.”

“So what? There’s nobody in this room except us.”

“No there’s nobody else here,” admitted the lawyer.
“But don’t talk in your sleep. If this ever got out,
you and me and my client would be sitting on top of
a volcano and—”

Steve’s cigar stopped gyrating suddenly and his head
came up sharply. His eyes began to pop out as he
looked at the secretary’s empty desk across the office.

“Look!” he gasped. “What’s that pencil doing
jumping around? It looks like it’s writing —Pete—
for God’s sake—”

T TORRIFIED, the two men watched the animated
pencil. Suddenly it laid itself down. The paper
on which it had been writing rose off the desk top.
Catlike footfalls approached the two men across the
thick rug. The paper floated along about five feet
off the floor. It approached till it dangled before the

THE INVISIBLE ROBINHOOD

21

two men’s eyes. They saw neat shorthand script on
it.

A voice came out of blank air.

“Gentlemen, how does it feel to be sitting on a vol¬
cano? Or how would you like to live in slums, as
thousands of poor souls have to, because men like you
and your boss Paulson won’t tear them down?”

Lawyer Pete was gasping like a fish. Politician
Steve was crossing himself superstitiously. Both of
them were speechless.

“No, I’m not a ghost,” continued the voice without
a visible source. “I’m an invisible man. I’m out to
get men like you. I have a complete shorthand record
of every word you two connivers spoke.”

The paper flaunted before their blood-drained
faces. Then it began to fold
neatly across the middle.

Unseen fingers tucked it in¬
to empty air where a man’s
pocket might be.

“The mayor will be in- M

terested to see this. Pleas- fl

ant dreams, gentlemen! ” . . mA

prints in the rug moved to- f) Tl fe- 1 yjS

ward the door. The door
opened and then closed.

TN a rollicking good hu-

A mor, Ted Marne ambled III ^

out of the beer parlor and ,l| 11

headed uptown. He might ||P 1

find a few cronies up at the \ , . s > f

Tipsy Tavern. Cross here. Sat

No—red light. What the

hell, what’s a red light? He

could dodge the cars. Here

we go!

Ted Marne got half way across the busy thorough¬
fare and then had a sickly feeling that he was trapped.
One car passing another was bearing down on him.
Damn, if he could only see a little clearer . . . squeal¬
ing brakes, but too late. The car was going to hit
him squarely, probably kill him at that speed—

A firm hand grasped his arm and yanked him back,
just in time. Then the same firm grip propelled him
forward at a run. Ted Marne stumbled up the curb.
But he stumbled now from nervousness. He was cold
sober from fright and the narrow escape.

“Thanks, pal,” he said, turning to his rescuer.

But there was no one there. Yet he still felt an
iron grip on his arm, steadying him. Marne blinked
and experimentally wiggled his arm. The grip re¬
mained.

“Are you all right?” whispered a voice in his ear.

Ted Marne was not the scary type. Nor was his
mind slow.

“Okay, Houdini,” he said. He spoke out of the
corner, of his mouth softly, so that passing people

wouldn’t think he was talking to himself. “You do
it with mirrors. Now who or what in hell are you?”

“I’m an invisible man.”

“I don’t drink that kind of stuff,” returned Marne.
“I’m the best damned reporter in this town and I’ve
seen some funny things, but Hannah help me—an in¬
visible man!”

“A reporter? You work for a newspaper? Will
you come with me to my rooms, where we can talk
privately?”

A HALF hour later Ted Marne sat down and
watched the cushion of a stuffed chair across
from him sink under an unseen weight. He lit a
cigarette and listened while the disembodied voice in-
a, troduced its owner and

|l^ briefly explained the

jpjfconcluded the voice, “but

you at all!” Marne grinned

a thing, Trent. Butwhya're
11 11 IIL 'Si if you going to all the trouble

°* ex ^ a * n * n ^ a ^ out y° urself

jP’^bteve's eyes began “Oh no, you aren’t!” con-
to pop. "boo'd’ he tradicted Marne. “I could

9 “cift writin/’"' W , rite a » eaah ot , a P“ ce

about you, but the editor
wouldn’t print it. If he did, the readers wouldn’t
believe it. You’re just too damned unbelievable. But
thanks anyway.”

The cushion expanded. Footfalls began to sound
softly around the room, as though Trent were pacing
thoughtfully.

“Marne,” he said finally, “I want you to write me
up, as a favor, and get it printed.”

“Okay,” sighed Marne. “You saved my life, I can’t
say no. But what’s your game?”

“I’ve been thinking of this step for some time. I
need publicity to carry on my campaign effectively.”

Marne sat up. “Publicity—campaign? Let’s have
it. What campaign?”

“My campaign of getting human rats! At first I
just prowled the night streets and stopped petty hold¬
ups. Later I gave police the information that broke
up a dope ring. And more recently I was behind the
indictment of Paulson!”

Marne’s mouth was open. “I begin to see nowl”
he murmured. Trent went on.

22

FANTASTIC ADVENTURES

“But that’s just pecking at it. I want to go after
bigger and bigger game. And I want all those who
indulge in shady and criminal dealings to know that
an invisible man can expose their every scheme. To
know that I may be at their elbow at any moment—
listening, watching! I want to put the fear of me
into every guilty heart in the city and country! Can
you write me up that way, Marne?”

“Can I?” The reporter let out a whoop. “Boy, let
me tell you I can, and will! And I have just the name
for you. Hereafter Trent, you’ll be known as the
Invisible Robinhood!”

CHAPTER IV

“Beware the Invisible Robinhood!”

T)IG Fellow Marlin looked out over the midwestern
city spread beyond the window of his high quar¬
ters in the building he owned. He frowned as a king
might frown. He had the right to. He was virtual
ruler of the city. He was the power behind the puppet
mayor’s throne.

“This invisible man stuff!” he grunted.

He went back to his breakfast table and picked up
the paper. The headline stared him in the face, though
he tried to ignore it.

“Invisible Robinhood Cleans Up Westavia!”

After the gory recital of smashed organization, the
writer, one Ted Marne, went off in his usual vein.

“Do you know that the Invisible Robinhood may
at this moment be at your side? He comes and goes
like the wind, unseen, unheard. He roams the coun¬
try, searching out crime and racketeering. He may
strike anywhere, wherever his hand is needed to help
the forces of law, order, decency and honesty. If
you have any guilty secret he may know it. If you
contemplate any shady undertaking, beware that the
Invisible Robinhood does not know of it, to the last
rotten detail. He carries on. And remember— he
may be at your side at this moment!”

Big Fellow Marlin threw down the paper disgust¬
edly. But he could not prevent his eyes from whisk¬
ing around the room. Nor could he control the slight
chill that ran up his spine at the thought that an in¬
visible man might be watching his every move.

The telephone rang. Marlin picked up the receiver.

“Hello . . . Hello, 21! What’s up? . . . What!
. . .You mean you won’t do it? Why not? . . .
The Invisible Ro—nuts! You better do it! . . .
Which do you fear most, 21, that publicity myth or
me? . . . I’ll ruin you! By God, I’ll ruin you!”

He was still fuming a few minutes later when a
cautious knock on the door heralded the entrance of
Dapper Mike.

“Hello, Mike. What’s on your mind?”

Mike swallowed. “I was just wondering, Big Fel¬
low. Maybe we’d better sort of lay low with that
new gambling joint. They say—” He stopped to
swallow again.

“Yes, what?” urged Marlin.

“They say he’s in town! ”

“You mean that damned Invisible Robinhood?”
roared the Big Fellow. “Who says he’s in town?”

“I got it from Joe. Joe got it from Barney. Bar¬
ney says they’re talking about it down at headquar¬
ters. I’m not taking any chances, Big Fellow.” Mike
glanced around the room nervously. “No soap on
our deal.”

Marlin arose with studied calm, and sauntered to
his wall-safe, behind a picture of cows in a field.
“You know what I have in here, Mike,” he said, twirl¬
ing the combination. “Blackmail papers on you
that—”

“Don’t open that!” almost screamed the gambler.
“He may be in this room now, waiting for that!
Didn’t you read the Westavia case?—how he let Wal-
ser open his private safe, then knocked him out and
used the stuff in court? What’s in your safe can ruin
you and me and half the town. Don’t open it!”

Marlin hesitated and then drew back, replacing the
picture. His eyes sneaked around the room appre¬
hensively. He flushed at Mike’s sober nod.

“Oh, get out, you damned chicken! ” Marlin roared.
“Get out!”

Later in the day, Marlin was speaking to his two
closest henchmen. “21’s place gets a nice bomb, see?
And Dapper Mike gets a slug in the back. They’ve
both turned yellow. Got it straight, boys?”

“No, we ain’t!” said one of the two gunmen flatly.
“We’re not doing any dirty work right now. At
Westavia, he got the whole works, just tracing down
a guy who bumped off another guy.”

“You see, boss,” said the other gunman, “the In¬
visible Robinhood’s in town!”

T)UT at that moment, Lyle Trent was far from that
city, and had no idea of coming to it. He was in
one of his several secret quarters, talking with Ted
Marne, the only man who knew where those places
were.

“Your publicity campaign for me has been a mar¬
velous success, Marne,” said Trent.

“I’ll say it has!” boasted the reporter. “You’ve
been Page One for eight months. My best line, the
one I get in every time, is—‘Remember, he may be
at your side this very minute!’ I’ll bet everyone shiv¬
ers ten times a day, thinking of that.” He grimaced.
“In fact, I’ve got to believing it myself. I shiver
sometimes when I know you aren’t around! ”

Trent chuckled. “Guilty conscience, Marne? But
I don’t know what I’d do without you. You’ve fol¬
lowed me around the country like a faithful dog, as
my personal press agent. You’ve been in danger,
too.”

“Don’t I know it!” responded the reporter. “I had
to think fast when the boys at Westavia wanted to
take me for a ride. It was easy, though. I just
looked around a little and said, ‘Okay, Robinhood,
give ’em the works!’ You should have seen them

THE INVISIBLE ROBINHOOD

23

duck and run.”

He burst out suddenly.

“But say what do you mean I followed you around?
Didn’t I plan the whole thing? Didn’t I insist on
jumping from one corner to the other of the country,
so as to give people the idea that you were every¬
where? Let me tell you, Trent, it’s worked. You’re
in every city in the country, at all times, in the minds
of all those who have reason to fear your coming.
You’ve started reforms in cities you’ve never been
within a hundred miles of! ”

“You’re right, Marne,” agreed Trent. “Some little
town down south sent me a check for a thousand
dollars for driving out their worst local character, a
cruel landlord, who claimed a voice in his ear kept
haunting him till he fled. Yet I was never there.”

Marne puffed at an expensive cigar contentedly.
“And don’t think you’re known just here in America.
I’ve been releasing all my accounts to the Interna¬
tional Service. Why, I’ll bet there isn’t a soul on
God’s green earth that hasn’t heard of the Invisible
Robinhood, even the big-wigs in Europe—”

Trent interrupted. “Say that again 1 ”

“I said, ‘even the big-wigs in Europe’; why?”

“What’s doing in Europe at the present?”

“Everything rotten that you can think of,” retorted
Marne. “For one thing, there’s a big war brewing.
The undeclared war going on at present is just the
preliminary for the big bout which may break any
minute—”

“WarI” ejaculated the bodiless voice of Trent.
“The most senseless folly of mankind. Innocent peo¬
ple murdered and impoverished. Suffering, misery,
famine—”

“Yeah. But what can you do about it?”

A steel-like hand gripped Marne’s shoulder, half
dragging him to his feet. “Start packing, Marne.
We’re going to Europe! ”

“Aw, Trent, you can’t—”

“Make reservations on the Normandie,” com¬
manded the incisive voice of the unseen man.

Marne shrugged and then grinned. “One or two
staterooms, Trent?”

CHAPTER V

The Invisible Robinhood’s Secret

' I ‘HE Leader condescended to read the newspaper
account, suitably translated, that his Foreign
Minister handed him with a grim look.

“European War Averted!” boldly stated the head¬
line.

It went on. “The Facts, by Ted Marne. In the
past four months, the European situation has changed
from a powder-keg ready to blow sky-high to a farce
of tangled intrigue. Five Big Powers, ready at any
moment for attack or defense, are today ready for
neither. Their best and most secret offense plans are
the common knowledge of every country’s capital.

“What Power planned to cross what mountain pass
to attack what little thorn in its side? Everybody
knows! What gigantic army was ready to invade
what open territory to get at what enemy for a killing
blow, all in secret? Everybody knows! Every man
in the street knows all the other great military coups
laboriously plotted out by would-be Napoleons.

“And how is this all known? Because the Invisible
Robinhood, humanity’s champion, stole all those
guarded plans from under their respective noses and
mailed printed copies everywhere except Timbuctoo.
The Timbuctooans aren’t particularly interested.

“Unseen, silent as a ghost, quick as a tiger, the
Invisible Robinhood sees all, hears all, knows all. All
you ministers of murder you crack-pot war-lords, you
dispensers of cannon fodder—are under his watchful,
cunning eye. You can’t make a move he doesn’t know
of. You can’t plan a single big drive or secret offen¬
sive. His mailed fist is mightier than yours. Re¬
member —he may be at your elbow this very minuter’

“So!” grunted The Leader. “It is this Invisible
Robinhood who gave our great triple attack plan, on
which our staff worked for three years, to our enemies,
and not the ten spies we shot. We must get him out
of the way, or we will never be able to make war.”

“That will not be easy,” said the Foreign Minister.
“He is as described—unseen, unheard.” He glanced
around uneasily, and shivered. “He is everywhere—
and nowhere!”

The Leader frowned. “Who is this Ted Marne?
Where is he?”

“His only confidant. We have checked his move¬
ments.” The Foreign Minister leaned forward.
“Perhaps we can strike at the Invisible Robinhood
through him. He is in this city at present. We have
papers—”

The Minister drew them from his portfolio. “These
are facsimiles of our plans, sent to other capitals,
signed by him. That makes him a spy! We can
shoot Ted Marne! Then we can concentrate on
tracking down the Invisible Robinhood.”

“Good!” exclaimed The Leader. “Have Marne ar¬
rested and brought here for a quick trial and sen¬
tence.”

An hour later, Ted Marne was ushered into The
Leader’s presence, between two rows of armed guards.
The Leader’s eyes were cold. Marne glared back
defiantly.

“You can’t do anything to me! ” he said confidently.
“I’m an American citizen.”

“You’re a spy!” shot back The Leader. “I have
proof here. These papers—”

He reached to the side of his desk, but there was
nothing there. The Leader looked puzzled, then
dumbfounded, for no one had been in the room, out¬
side of his trusted personal guard, since the Foreign
Minister had left.

At that moment loud voices sounded from the cor¬
ridor and a man burst in. He was the American con¬
sul. “I’ve been informed,” he snapped, “that one Ted

24

FANTASTIC ADVENTURES

Marne is unlawfully held here, under suspicion as a
spy. Have you any proof? If not, free him imme¬
diately.”

“Where can those papers be?” appealed The Leader
to his minister. “Who could have taken them?”

“The Invisible Robinhood, of course!” grinned Ted
Marne. “Didn’t I tell you he might be at your elbow?”

“Guards, lock the doors!” roared The Leader.
“We’ll get him!”

“You won’t lock the doors on us!” stormed the
American consul. “Who do you think you are?”

Helplessly, The Leader watched as the consul and
Ted Marne stalked out. They walked strangely apart,
as though a third, unseen, man were between them.

TT was the day, and all day Leda Norris was in a
A fever of impatience. Would he keep his promise
to come back once a year, on the anniversary of their
first meeting?

The hours passed. Night came. Eleven o’clock.
Leda was now alone in her room. One minute to
twelve. . . .

The curtains rustled at the window. Soft footfalls
came toward her.

“Lyle!”

“Leda!”

The voice came from just before her, but when she
stretched out her arms, involuntarily, she felt noth¬
ing. She heard him step to the side.

“No, Leda. We mustn’t. Sit down and I’ll talk to
you for a while.”

The girl obediently sat down, then looked at the
opposite chair. “I’m glad you remembered, Lyle.
Just to hear your voice—” She broke off and began
again. “The Invisible Robinhood! I’ve read all about
you. Every word, over and over. I’m proud of you,
Lyle. You’re doing more good in this world than any
one man before in history!”

“Only because of my power of invisibility,” re¬
turned Trent. “Any other decent man could do the
same. But when I’m gone, my secret goes with me.
It’s too dangerous, in the wrong hands. The process
may never be discovered again. I found it only be¬
cause of that accident, which gave me the clue—one
chance out of a million. So it was a lucky accident—
but a cursed one too!”

His voice was surprisingly vehement on the last
phrase.

“Why do you say that, Lyle?”

“Because it’s kept me from you, Leda!”

“Oh, I see.”

Silence fell between them. The silence of two souls

who are meant for each other, but are kept apart by
the strange workings of destiny.

Leda felt like crying bitterly, as she so often had
since that last time, but conquered her emotion
bravely, knowing he would want her to.

She stared fixedly at the empty chair in which he
sat. “I can almost picture you there, Lyle,” she mur¬
mured. “Your tall, straight body—grave, boyish face
—curly hair— Lyle! I’m never to see you again,
in all my life?”

“Never!” said Trent, almost in a croak.

ATER, when Trent returned to his rooms, Marne
was waiting for him.

“Say, Trent, I’ve got a great idea!” the reporter
chortled. “I’m going to run your picture! What’s
publicity without pix? I’m going to run a full roto¬
gravure pic of you, in color—” He laughed ring-
ingly. “Yeah, Trent, all in grey! Can’t you just pic¬
ture people looking at a ten-by-twelve blank space
labeled ‘The Invisible Robinhood’ and—”

Marne choked on his laugh. Somehow he sensed
the air of gloom surrounding the other. He had been
with him long enough to know his moods by a subtle
aura he radiated.

“Sorry, Trent,” mumbled Marne. “Seen Leda, eh?
You know, that girl really loves you. She’s written
me a million letters, asking about you, Jelling me to
take good care of you. Trent, aren’t you making a
mistake? Why not marry her? You could take her
with you. She’d follow you anywhere—to Mars,
even, if you started a reform there. And you’d be
happier, too. I know it’s none of my business, but—”

“Marne” said the unseen man in a low, harsh voice,
“you’ve never seen me, and you’ve often wondered
why, I know. You know the story of the accident at
Leyden that gave me the secret of invisibility.
Look!—”

A switch snapped. With startling abruptness,
Marne saw a figure before him. It was completely
sheathed in what looked like fine chain-mail. The
gauntleted hands reached up to unfasten the helmet¬
like hood. Marne gasped.

The face revealed was hideous. Great burn-scars
obliterated what had once been a strong, handsome
face. There was little nose or hair. Only purple folds
of lumpy scar-tissue.

“Leda does not know,” said Lyle Trent, replacing
the hood.

Ted Marne bowed his head in his hands. He felt
like crying, but went out and got drunk instead.

THE END

*******

*****

**

25

FANTASTIC INVENTIONS

PERPETUAL MOTION MACHINES
An impossible invention which has lured many inventors

C ONTRARY to all logic, many inventors have sought
to create a machine which would work until it wore
out, without an application of outside force to keep it
going. This is a complete fallacy, and a little serious
thinking will make it apparent.

A water wheel is run by sun-power

At first thought, a water wheel is such a machine, but
it is not. It is evident that it is the sun which makes the
wheel go by raising the water.

A Foucault pendulum might be said to be a perpetual
motion machine, since it continues to describe an arc as
the earth revolves. But here again, a phenomenon of
nature, evidenced in a machine, depends wholly on an
outside force, motion of the earth.

Many things occur in nature and in mechanics which
those inventive dreamers who seek the will-o-the-wisp of
a perpetually moving machine point out as evidence that
it is not an impossibility. But when they try to carry out
these apparent instances in an inventive manner, creating
all sorts of machines, they run up against the obstacle of
impossibility.

They have tried to use magnetism, rigging up complicated
systems of inter-operating magnets, and have achieved
some remarkably baffling machines, but upon examination,
each has shown itself to possess some outside motive power,
either intentionally placed there by the inventor, or not
realized by him as such.

Basically, all these magnetic devices have been nothing
more than electric motors, in fantastic forms. They need
a power input to activate them.

The force of gravity has been used by many in an effort

An electric motor operates magnetically

to produce perpetual motion. Many fantastic devices were
created. One, for instance, is a wheel equipped with
buckets, something like a ferris wheel geared to an upright
elevator conveyor, operating on the continuous belt prin¬

ciple. It uses metal balls to make it go, the balls ascending
the elevator being propelled up by the geared wheel which
is turned by the weight of other balls continually being
dumped in at the top, and rolling out of the buckets at the
bottom, to return once more to the elevator to be raised
again. Thus a series of balls is supposed to keep the wheel
going. The theory of the inventor who devised this one
is simple. Inasmuch as the distance the balls had to be
lifted was shorter than the distance the same balls traveled
around the wheel’s circumference from the top, it seemed
that there would be surplus unexpended gravity power left

One form of hypothetical perpetual motion machine

to be utilized in moving the wheel. And as long as the
wheel moved, the balls would continue to become available
for still more power-producing descents. In fact, however,
the friction of the wheel, the gears, etc., needed far more
power than supplied by the balls. It is a law of physics
that it is impossible to get more power out of an apparatus
than is put into it.

These inventors persisted because they pointed to the
motion of the earth and the stars as perpetual motion. But
again they erred. The motion of every heavenly body is
dependent on other bodies. If we analyze deeply, we come
to the Einstein precepts of relativity, and discover all
motion to be relative. A lone planet, plunging at incredible
speed through absolutely empty space could not be said to
be moving. There would be no basis of comparison.

Perpetual motion machines are impossible.

Motion of heavenly bodies depends on mutual gravitation

The

EMPRESS OF MARS

By ROSS ROCKLYNNE

CHAPTER I
In a Strange Land

F LAT on my stomach I lay, heart beating wildly,
the mudflats of the Thasser Canal a veritable
stench in my nostrils. Above me, on the sagging
plankings of the rotting Jador wharf, I heard the
ribald oath of the Captain of the Guards, as he feared
that I had escaped his clutches and his thirsting dirk.

Scarce three feet distant lapped the foul waters of
the Thasser, dark, evil, mysterious in the misty dark¬
ness of the Martian night. And out there, on the
dark waters, rode at anchor a single houseboat,
blunt-browed, three-cabined. Farther down the dock,
whence went shipping to all the far-flung corners of
the dangerous, mad, warlike world, were other more
stately craft, chief amongst them the palace boat of
the self-styled Empress of Mars.

Oaths rose on the night air, and I knew that not
this easily would Miran Borg, Captain of the Royal
City Guards, give up the search. Nay! My dead

bleeding body he’d have, as warning to other uncerti¬
fied foreigners. I cursed the moment I had, in my
foolhardiness, exposed myself in the full glare of light
for my typically angular Wergite features were no
asset in the cruel, barbarous land of Crill.

Off to my right I heard a dull thud, as a harran
bokka flung himself from the rotting wharf, landed
with catlike feet on the Thasser mudflats. I saw his
eyes flash in the gloom as they turned on my hiding
place. Slowly, warily, he crept toward me. And I,
weaponless, in very fear of death, waited.

Mad, warlike world! As I lay there, with death
encircling me, creeping in on me with sure tread, my
thoughts spun with nostalgia to that blue world which
men called Earth. My mind spun back to the
ancient civilizations three thousand years gone, when
all the planets that pushed eternally about the Sun
had been settled, colonized, united in a common bond
of friendship. And then, fearsome thing, like some
rash disease, interplanetary war had broken out, rav¬
aged up and down the length and depth of the solar
system, decimated nine-tenths of the human race.

And as it faded away, there were left a dozen iso¬
lated planets, peopled with men of Earth, bereft
greatly of all save a barbarous science, bereft of the
manner of flight across the void. Worlds plunged
back across thousands of years to a state of barbaric
culture, in which sword and dirk and the power of
might rose and displaced cold mathematical science.

And I was one of those barbarians; I who had first
seen the stark, brilliant light of day in my little coun¬
try far across the Martian wastes.

My little country, my princess! Emotion and a
blaze of sheer anger choked my throat. That I should
be lying in the wet and cold of the Thasser mudflats,
doomed to sudden merciless death, with my princess,
beloved of my people, still in dire peril at the hand

28 FANTASTIC

©f the cruel Empress! Wrong, it was. Wrong!

'T'HE harran * crept along toward me, crouched.
A Not yet had his eyes picked me out of the gloom,
but I saw his short-sword, clutched to the ready in
his hand. I drew my naked, freezing hands up under
me, braced them on the stinking surface of the mud¬
flats. The harran paused under the shadow of the
wharf. And then, his eyes dilating, his breath com¬
ing hoarsely, he saw me, and made as if to give warn¬
ing.

Too late! With the speed of a darak t—indeed, my
public name is Darak—I leaped from the noisome
ground, flung myself full at him. Had he a moment’s
warning, some slight knowledge of my far-famed
speed, I were dead, with the short of his sword pierc¬
ing me through to the heart.

But ere he could utter a syllable, I grasped him
about the throat. With a single motion I flung him
across my bent knee, and the sound of his shattered
vertebrae was a sharp crack in the night.

Then, crouching, hoping against hope that sounds
of the conflict might not have reached the ears of my
pursuers, I waited. Vain hope! Came a voice, harsh,
rasping, from above me.

“What say you, Rinui? You’ve found him?”

Well knowing the need of action, my lips ground
out the harsh gutterals of the Crillian tongue.

“A trice to these littered shores, Miran Borg! By
Jaos, I’ve ruined my leg!”

“To the devil with your leg, then!” snarled Miran
Borg. “You’ve seen a sign of the Wergite?”

“Gone,” I growled surlily. “Best we continue the
search down to Cratlas Pier. And may I be the one
to sever his guts from his body!”

“Five shabra to the man who does! But ’ware of
him, for he is large of body and swift of mind!”
snarled Miran Borg, and then came his voice, shout¬
ing orders. Feet pounding, down the wharf, away to
the landing. I stilled the pound of my heart, and
drew a heartfelt breath of relief.

Then, softly, exultantly, I crept down to the shores
of the Thasser, and plunged silently into its polar-
cooled waters.

I glided out from the shadow of the wharf, propel¬
ling myself with short, powerful strokes, my nose
barely above water.

* The Harrans are the police of Crill, members of the so-called
nobility, who exercise their position and rank as a sort of National
Guard, and peace-time member of the regular army. They are all
officers, trained to command the bokkas, or privates, during wartime.
Theirs is a life of fighting and murder on the slightest pretext, their
greatest delight being the clash of swords and the spilling of blood.
But they have a code of honor which can be depended upon, in spite
of the fact that their motto is “Death." On Earth, in the 20th cen¬
tury, they would have been classed as soldiers of fortune, although
unlike those ancient adventurers, they are an integral part of the gov¬
ernment of the nation which they serve. They receive no pay, their
rank entitling them to take what they want, by right of sword.—
Thompson’s Sociology of the Martian Nations.

t The Darak is a fleet, courageous animal, famed for its dexterity
and fighting ability. Native of the mountainous regions.— Fauna of
Mars, Settlement Survey.

ADVENTURES

The shore fell behind, as I headed midstream,
bound for that single, blunt-prowed house-boat.

To its starboard quarter I went, my flesh chilled not
so much from the freezing waters as from the feel of
obscene water creatures brushing against me, or coil¬
ing about my naked legs. Now the Jador wharf was
hid from me by the uprising hulk of the apparently
tenantless craft, and I threw one arm over the gun-
whale, and swiftly drew myself over the side.

Dripping water, I came to a wary crouch, my hand
ready to my short-sword, which I had acquired from
my assailant of a few moments gone, well aware that
death lurked at every turn of a corner.

There was no sound on all the world now, save the
far away scream of a yammir,* from far on the other
side of this monstrous Martian city.

I heard a sound. I wheeled, in a flash had my short-
sword out and ready to action. And it were well that
perceptions on that night were keened to the utmost,
for bearing down on me, upraised sword glinting,
bestial face cruel with the murder lust, came a very
devil of a man!

“TTAVE at you!” the giant roared, and his sword
x cut the air with a shriek, so narrowly missing
me that I heard the singing of the metal as it flashed
past my ear.

I leaped back, struck at his short sword savagely,
and I imagine my own face was not a pretty thing to
see, as we went at it hook and tongs. No amateur
sword play here! Swifter than lightning he gave
feint for feint, thrust for thrust, counterpoint for
counterpoint.

“Die!” he cried, and his sword surely and venge-
fully pushed forward through a space I had occupied
but a fraction of a second before. I laughed savagely,
but wasted not my breath on idle words, for I was
pitted against a swordsman of cunning and brawn.

Slowly but surely, using a time-honored trick, I
allowed him to press me back against the cabin-wall.
For a well-versed antagonist the rule is to build up
his confidence—then, a flash of steel, a swift counter¬
point, a thrust to the heart—and victory!

Thus I knew it would be, and thus it was. A final
parry, a diabolical feigned weakness, and he rushed
at me. Too late he saw my ruse! He gave vent to
a single whimpering cry as he fairly hurled himself
onto the point of my sharp blade. He sagged, and
his life spurted from his mouth, staining his dirty
beard crimson.

I braced my foot against his massive body, and
drew out my weapon. Stooping, I wiped the bloody
sword on his tunic, then again came to my feet.

Warily I lay my hand to ,a companionway door, the

* The Yammir is one of the few birds of Mars. It is long-legged,
extremely fragile in appearance, but agile in flight. It appears only
at night, and its scream is entirely out of proportion with its appear¬
ance, being a shrill noise of deafening proportions. On Earth, its
voice would be truly thunderous but on Mars, the thin atmosphere
serves to heighten the pitch, and thin the volume.— Fauna of Mars,
Settlement Survey.

30

FANTASTIC ADVENTURES

they had first looked deep into their loves’ unscarred
souls, and had seen in one moment—or a thousand
years—all the virtues of woman since time immemo¬
rial, parading there, and, with scarce a conscious
thought, knew that this was the woman for whom
they would willingly fight a whole world!

Shall I continue to explain? Or shall I not attempt
to explain a doubtless unexplainable mystery, whose
roots lie at the very foundations of life itself? Good
enough! Suffice to say, then, that as I gazed at her
speechless, the rest of the world, and all the threaten¬
ing dangers in it, receded from my thoughts. A burn¬
ing emotion gripped me, my blood a pounding torrent
in my body. I, Darak of Werg, knew that in this girl
lay my destiny.

I took a dazed step toward her, and she cowered
back from me, her soft breasts rising and falling con¬
vulsively. She saw in my eyes what I felt, and inter¬
preted it wrongly.

“Go away and leave me!” she whispered, her violet
eyes flaming.

“You wrong me,” I said huskily. “I am not your
enemy.”

She shrank back as I advanced another step. “How
did you gain access to this boat?” she whispered.
“How did you vanquish Deodum?”

“I killed him,” I replied simply.

“I do not believe you could have killed him! He
is too powerful.”

I raised my sword to the light of the flickering tal¬
low lamp. “The blood of Deodum has stained my
weapon,” I smiled, as I saw the hope in her eyes. Then
I repeated, “I am your friend. I am a refugee, and
but a few moments ago escaped death at the hands of
the Royal City Guards.”

A smile began to curve her lips, and she came to¬
ward me and lay her small, white hand on my bare
arm. Once again under the spell of her violet eyes,
the impulse which rose up in me would not be brooked.
I swept her into my arms, her soft lips quivering, her
body warm and vibrant against mine. And I could
have sworn in that moment that she responded, be¬
fore her own sweet innocence claimed possession of
her.

She twisted savagely free of me, her eyes blazing.
Then she struck me, harshly, with animal passion.

“You dare!” she hissed.

A/TY voice was a faraway thing in my ears, as I
stepped back, stood straight, unmoving, white
of face. I was not sorry for what I had done, yet I
said, “Forgive me, wachin.* I lost myself to your
beauty.”

There was some hot retort on her lips, but she never

♦Wachin—a term of endearment derived from the wachin, now
extinct, a very beautiful and tiny animal whose body seemed almost
ethereal, so transparent was its flesh, and so delicate the tracery of
its violet veins, and its rosy luminous hair. They became susceptible
to the germ of the common cold, brought from Earth, and an un¬
checked epidemic wiped them out .—Fauna of Mars, Settlement
Surve.

uttered the words. Instead, her violet eyes swept with
intense study over my angular features.

“You are Wergite?” she question with unwonted
eagerness, her lips parted. “You are a spy?”

“My business is none of yours, “I responded coldly.
“It was ill-luck alone which bade me seek this boat
as refuge.” Then I relented, and shoved my sword
back into its scabbard.

“On the other hand, my mission is well-known in
Jador, and the addition of another knowing ear will
work no harm. Know then that scarce three
score days ago the Princess of Werg, worshipped
the length and breadth of my land, was set upon by
a marauding band of Crillians, and brought to this
country. My country is too small, too illy-armed to
proceed against the mightiness of Crill—so, of all
volunteers, I was chosen to restore her to her
country.”

Her look was suddenly very gentle. “You have
much hope of succeeding?”

“I return with my princess,” I replied, “or else I
die. My princess first, and perhaps her bracelet.”

“Her bracelet?”

“The talisman of her dynasty. The Royal Hinusian
Bracelet, set with the fiery stones of life.”

“I have heard much of this fabulous talisman,” she
said thoughtfully. “I have heard that the rays which
radiate from it are as new life to the sick, the invalid,
and the dying. I have heard rumor that in Werg all
men are deathless.” Her eyes were shining. “I have
heard that though Werg is the smallest of all the coun¬
tries on all Mars, still it is the greatest, the noblest.
Its peoples are the deathless race! For the rays of
the Hinusian Bracelet are powerless in all other coun¬
tries. For from the very ground of Werg, and only
Werg,,do the rays that render the bracelet effective
come. And you will know where this bracelet is
secreted?” she asked gently.

I thrust up the short sleeve of my wet, skin jacket,
and showed her the transparent small box strapped
above my biceps. She leaned forward, her eyes widen¬
ing. I turned my shoulder slightly, and she watched
the lambent blue flame of the needle as it twisted on
its universal joint.

“Where points the needle,” I told her, “there is the
princess’ fabulous bracelet.”

“You have seen the princess of Werg?” she ques¬
tioned me.

“From afar,” I made answer. “I could never for¬
get the glorious masses of sun-golden hair which adorn
her head. I have no fear I shall know her when she
comes to my sight.”

CHE nodded and smiled at me. “You need not fear
that I will reveal you,” she said in a voice that
had turned low and thrilling. “I myself am not native
to this land. I was a slave, serving in the palace of
one of the lesser nobles. Deodum is a canal thief by
profession, but in selling his stolen wares at the pal¬
ace, he saw me and carried me off, unknown to all.

THE EMPRESS OF MARS

31

His intentions,” she flushed but her lovely eyes did
not lower, “were not of the best.”

I made bold to take her hands in mine.

Standing there, I realized that time, precious to
me at this hour, was slipping. Before me stood the
girl of my heart, but even more important to me was
the welfare of my princess and her fateful bracelet.
These I must attain at any cost, even the loss of my
beloved.

“I must go,” I said slowly. “It was the hand of fate
that directed me to meet my destiny here. For you
are my destiny. You must know that, ere I go.” I
smiled. “I should like to take your name with me,
wachin.”

“Thilna,” she made answer, making no attempt to
free her imprisoned hand. “Thilna of Jaray.”

“And I am Darak, of Werg.”

She nodded quickly, her eyes bright. “Yes. You
are well-known, even in Jaray, Darak of Werg,” she
said quietly, and then the look in her eyes became
urgent, supplicating. “You must return here with the
dawn! ”

“You ask me that?” I said slowly.

“Yes, for in the city the sun will only bring death
upon you, and it will bring discovery of me, and no
good to either of us. You will return, even though
you find no trace of the Princess of Werg, or her
bracelet.”

I drew her to me then and kissed her full on the
lips. A moment we thus stood, while the cry of a
yammir rose full upon the night from the desert waste.

I released Thilna with a heart pang that it might
be for the last time that I held her thus.

“I will return with the dawn,” I promised, looking
deep into her violet eyes. Then I turned, and without
a word bounded up a companionway to the deck.
There I stumbled over Deodum, and thinking that
Thilna might perchance trip over him, I heaved him
into the deep, chill waters of the Thasser.

I followed after, but Deodum and I went in oppo¬
site directions, you may be sure! I swiftly sped across
the broad bosom of the Thasser toward the city, and
having dragged myself from the canal stood there,
dripping, ever cautious. There was no wharf, nothing
but the dank mudflats.

Some three hundred feet up the slope, the city of
Jador commenced to come into being, and toward
this I sped, following the direction in which the lam¬
bent needle pointed.

And the needle pointed toward the danger-ridden
palace of the Empress of Mars!

CHAPTER III
Flight From Cammint

CKIRTING sidestreets, wending my way along
^ through the dim underworld section, my path led
me toward the royal palace.

What would be my entrance, what my method of

serving my princess, of escaping with her, of bringing
to fruition my plans, I was, in all truth, not aware.
Yet I knew that these things must be done, if the
glory of Werg were not to be swept from the face of
Mars.

Without plan, without disguise, I, a Wergite, rec¬
ognizable as such in sufficient light, stalked through
the demimonde of Jador. Chance alone it would be,
I knew, that would present to me a workable plan.
And so it was!

TNTO my sight came as abandoned and bloodthirsty
a scene as can be imagined! A dozen harrans
there were, full decked in their finery, swords glinting
dully, faces wild with the joy of combat, and standing
them off were a mere four men, giant in build, savage
and bearded of face. In swordplay and numbers they
were illy matched, yet were going at it with a courage
and audacity that was little short of heroic!

Not long did I watch, but leaped forward into the
thickest of the battle, my lips curled. Well enough I
knew the tactics of these harrans. Cruel, bloodthirsty,
conscienceless devils with hearts of iron. Well enough
I knew their sport, parading up and down the side-
streets of Jador, for entertainment slaughtering need¬
lessly all who stood in their way.

“Have at you then!” I cried, and threw myself
into it with fervor. Now there were a dozen harrans
against the five of us, but at that moment the odds
turned. It was luck alone which enabled me to put
the fear of their gods into them, those harrans, for
in the first second of my entering, one of them suc¬
cumbed to the bite of my blade, and, decapitated,
lolled to the cobblestones in a pool of blood.

We pressed them, those four ruffians and I, and
slaughtered them one by one. Blood lust rose up in
me. Lunge, parry, lunge, counterpoint, feint—death!

Our feet scuffed the alley stones as we pressed them
backward, though our breath was rasping. With the
suddenness of thought, our assailants were cut down
to one gasping, death-fearing harran, a colonel in the
service to judge by the stars on his shoulder. But
he asked no quarter, and would have expected none.
With courage that was magnificent, his blade was like
a web of sparkling light as it fended off our five blood¬
stained weapons.

He snarled as he fought, backed into a cul-de-sac.
Now, abruptly, my companions in the fight stood back
and left me to finish him off, but ere I could beat down
his guard, a sudden thought came to me.

I redoubled my efforts on him, leaped in under his
weapon, and with a final stroke struck it singing away
into the night. Then I stepped forward, pressing my
blade to his midriff. He dropped his arms, and stood
rigid, face a mask.

Abruptly I faced the men at my back.

“Be gone with you!” I cried. “Here’s my prisoner,
my sport, and to what purpose I put him is no con¬
cern of yours.

As one man, they muttered “Aye,” and melted away

FANTASTIC ADVENTURES

32

into the foul night.

T TURNED back to my man, and pressed my weap¬
on harder. “I have no desire to kill you,” I snarled.
“But suppose I spare you—what profit in it for me?”

He said stiffly, “On the other hand, what profit in
the body of a dead man? What’s the price of my
life?”

I told him outright, and he looked at me sharply.

“Truly,” he said angrily, “treachery to my Em¬
press is too much to ask! Run me through, but I’ll
not let an assassin into the Royal Palace!”

“I promise you that no harm will come to the Em¬
press Flavia,” I told him patiently. “Nor shall I seek
to destroy the palace. My sole intention is primarily
to rescue the Princess of Werg, secondly to take
back the Royal Hinusian Bracelet.”

I looked him square in the eyes, and finally he
nodded. Harran or not, beast or not, there’s honor
in the soul of most men, and there was a promise in
this man’s eyes that would be kept.

I dropped my weapon, and explained my desires
more fully.

He frowned in thought. “A small request, hoepx,” *
he said carelessly. “I think the trick can be turned.
I have a friend doing penal duty in the menial’s wing.
You’ll remain here, and within the hour I’ll return.”

He disappeared without more ado into the noisome
night. I sheathed my sword, and sank down upon
the cobble-stones, exulation running strong in my
veins. Victory in sight, the princess once more re¬
stored to her homeland, with luck! *

I waited, shivering in the chill Martian night, draw¬
ing my jacket tighter around me.

Later, came quick military footsteps out of the hem¬
ming darkness. It was the colonel. Without a word,
he commenced to disrobe, and I struggled into the
gold braid and leather finery of his rare Uxillian silk
habiliments. I clapped his fur broad-cap to my head,
and stood to attention with gauntleted hand clasping
the hilt of my jewel-shot sword. He nodded grimly.

“You’ll pass, hoepx,” he said grimly. “The casque
rounds out your face somewhat, so that you may be
assumed to be a Crillian.” He stooped, began to strip
from one of his dead comrades, accouterments some¬
what spattered with blood. “A like enough story for
me,” he said musingly. “Struck down in an alley-way,
after I had received the special permit; stripped and
left naked. . . . The aeroplane you’ll find ready to
fly at Cammint Field. My credentials, my authoriza¬
tion for entrance to the Royal Palace, all there, in an
inner pocket. But may you be shot down within the
hour. I’ve performed my half of the bargain.”

“May you continue to perform it, by saying noth¬
ing.” With this final word, I strode off into the night.

* Hoepx—a ferocious animal with a long, sharp horn atop its head,
which serves almost the same capacity as a sword in its manner of
fighting. The Hoepx has been known to vanquish a master swords¬
man. Its movements are lightning swift.— Fauna of Mats, Settle¬
ment Survey.

TX7ITH quickening pace, for the tiny moons of
V Y Mars were rising ever higher, swallowing the
night, I went forth on Jharath Way, with the bright
light of street-glows lighting my Wergite features all
too strongly.

About me swarmed the higher classes of Crillians.
No woman, for such would be dangerous; but men,
great, full-chested giants, with jet black hair, swing¬
ing easily along, saw-tooth capes billowing out be¬
hind them, fine, jewel-encrusted swords clanking at
their booted hips. And men with the stripes of the
Royal Guards, and the Royal City Guards, as well
harrans from the polar wastes and outlying districts.

Through all this I wended my way, feeling that the
eyes of every harran who passed were fastened upon
me in suspicion. Truly I, Darak of Werg, was in a
hornet’s nest.

I had all but reached my destination, and was cross¬
ing the square into the quieter section of the town op¬
posite the beginnings of Upper Jador, the palace of
the Empress rising into sight a scant five miles dis¬
tant, Cammint Field across the block, when a hearty
voice bellowed, in the Crillian tongue.

“Viel, by the gods!” and a heavy hand clapped me
on the shoulder. For the moment my blood froze,
and almost I was of a mind to whip out my blade and
have at the man on the spot. But that were folly,
indeed, so that I turned, and beheld the fierce eyes
of a ‘brother’ colonel.

The hearty look on his bearded face fell away, and
he blinked in confusion.

“Your pardon,” he muttered, surveying me nar¬
rowly. “Almost I could swear that no other harran
in the service wears such a cocky, ice-white ostrich
plume in his casque as Viel. But no matter!” He
laughed. “A silly mistake! ” A final clap to the shoul¬
der and he was off, albeit turning his head back puz-
zledly.

A narrow escape, if escape it was, and the blood
was again tingling in my veins. Pray God that har-
ran’s suspicions did not remain, else I were dead in
all truth.

But no time for useless fears! I quickened my step
across the square, swung through the portals of Cam-
mint Field past the gateman, who thought my uniform
voucher enough for my right to enter. I went straight
across the field, across the red-grassed tarmac.

There was a sleepy mechanic in a booth. I hailed
him angrily.

“You’ve attended to my bee-wing,* rogue?” I
shouted menacingly. He scrambled to his feet, a
lanky lad, anxious to please a man with stars on his
shoulder.

He beckoned and crossed the field toward a bee¬
wing, I following.

In a moment I was in possession of the craft, and
* The bee-wing is the airplane of Mars. It is an ancient inven¬
tion, and the only fuel possible for its operation is radium, rap¬
idly becoming the scarcest of Martian elements. Therefore, the
bee-wing is a highly prized possession of any Martian.— Thomp¬
son’s Sociology of the Martian Nations.

THE EMPRESS OF MARS

33

no hand to stay me. I leaped aboard, stood before
the control panel, and worked the levers. The ellip¬
tical wings of my craft began to beat the air rapidly,
until they were a blur to my sight; until they made
such deep, roaring buzz that sound of the outside world
was gone entirely.

Exultantly, I strained my eyes out over Cammint.
Empty, no staying hand! Good enough! But wait,
what was that?

TT'AR across at the entrance, a harran officer came
running through, waving his arms.

The game was up? No, by God! and I rammed
home the final plunger, and the bee-wing took off
flapping up into the thin air and forward with such
speed that in a matter of seconds Cammint was a dot
of light in the darkness, and the city of Jador was
sprawled in fantastic shadows below.

I went blind, without lights, never knowing when
some similar craft might blunder out of the encircling
darkness full tilt into me.

I set my course for the Royal Palace, and had my
forward needle guns set for any who dared offer me
hindrance.

The palace loomed out of the starry night like a
gaunt finger pointing out my doom, and I drove for
it, speculating on my destiny. Did death for me and
my princess lie there, or were the gods of my fathers
to give me carte blanche to walk through all the mon¬
strous dangers ahead unscathed?

Tight-lipped, I muttered, “For my princess, and all
else must be forgot!” Yet, I persisted in forgetting
my princess, whom I had never seen face to face. The
face of Thilna, that delicate, serene, divinely lovely
face of the girl in the houseboat on the Thasser, rose
insistently before my mind’s eye. Would I ever see
her again, hear her low, thrilling voice? Pray the Gods
I did! For I had spent such short, swift-slipping mo¬
ments with her—I, who hoped with the devil’s own
optimism to spend the rest of my days in the sun¬
shine of her smile.

The Royal Landing Stage, on the palace roof! My
hand steady on the helm, yet trembling withal, I
dropped the bee-wing, brought the craft to rest on
the composition roof. The wings flapped down to a
nothingness of motion. With huge bravado, but un¬
ease in my heart, I dropped to the roof, and stood
waiting.

CHAPTER IV
Paran Leeah

npHREE harrans came striding toward me, faces
grim, gauntleted hands to sword. Two were
merely bokkas, without rating; the other, to judge by
the gold and bronze of his caparison, was a captain
in the service. But scant respect did I, in my dis¬
guise as a superior officer, expect from the captain,
for in one regiment even a bokka owes neither fealty

nor obedience to any officer in another.

“Your business?” rasped out the harran captain
without preliminaries. “Quick about it!”

“Too much mouth and too little ear is often a guar¬
antor of a short life,” I responded coldly, striding up
to him. “I come from Cammint, with a special per¬
mit and order from Lieutenant-General Groton Loj
of the Ruiri battalions. My regiment is leaving for
the Hahillian front tomorrow—forced march, you un¬
derstand, and I have a debt which I must extract
from a—friend.” I put a wry significance on the
last words.

I could see him relenting, but he held out an im¬
perious hand for the permit and my credentials. He
scanned them sharply, handed them back, and then
motioned the two bokkas forward. Quite imperson¬
ally, they divested me of my jeweled sword and of
my other weapon, a single dirk. And I, weaponless
in the midst of peril, could do little more than comply
with grace.

“You’ll claim those when you return,” the captain
growled. “And as for your friend, a poor class of
friend he is, and a long descent you’ll make reaching
him, doing detail work—in the servant’s wing!” He
laughed harshly. “Get along, then!”

No need of a further invitation! I made for the
sky-ramp. At the farther end I saw a staircase and
made for it.

Still feeling deeply the loss of my weapons, I de¬
scended, emerged into another corridor, unused, ap¬
parently, save as a guardroom. The laughter of a
dozen lounging harrans greeted me.

“Peacock!” jeered one, no doubt taking cognizance
of the ostrich plume projecting upward from my
casque. I paused, loathe to engage in combat at this
time, yet resenting the jeer to the full. A repetition
of the taunt, and a round of hoarse laughter decided
me.

I wheeled to the harran who had spoken, a slim
fellow with malicious deviltry in his eye. “It’s safe
to open your mouth against a man who’s lost his
weapons. Is that your class of bravery?” I cried
furiously. “Had I my sword, I’d stuff your words
back into your throat with its point!”

r T~'HE harran I addressed leaped to his feet without
more ado, uttering an oath fraught with insult.
From one of his companions he borrowed a sword,
and extended it to me by the blade; I grasped it, and
without parley we were engaged.

In a trice, a space was cleared about us, and we
went at it thick and heavy. No need to tell you more
of that battle, save that the man was certainly no
master of the sword. Tricks he had, but a blundering
application of them that rendered useless his on¬
slaught. I was scarce breathing hard, when he fell
at my feet, inert.

I faced the others in silence, but none offered taunt
or hand against me. I returned the borrowed sword,
and then, without a moment’s hesitation unbuckled

34

FANTASTIC ADVENTURES

from my fallen adversary’s waist his glittering scab¬
bard. I retrieved his sword, and in a moment’s time
was equipped once more with the weapons I so sorely
needed.

So I swung down the staircase from that corridor,
and continuously downward, running softly, wary of
passing harrans.

Never had I seen anything to compare with this
fabulously adorned palace. In all the universe, there
is nothing to compare with the wealth of jewel-set bas-
reliefs, the inhumanly carved statuettes that range the
walls, the rich tapestries, the solid gold and bronze
staircases. But admiration for those beauties? Nay!
Rather, a hot burning anger against the inhumane
i Empress of Crill, who had wrested from her many
subjugated nations their traditional treasures, and an
unbearable annual tribute to boot.

And now, thirteen levels below, the lambent needle
pointed out my direction—straight ahead! Here on
this very level was my beloved Princess, if I had in¬
terpreted facts aright.

At that I stopped dead. Ah, would they dare strip
from her wrist that fabulous bracelet? Would they
dare humiliate her as they had humiliated other roy¬
alty?

With an oath at these possibilities, I nonetheless de¬
termined that my path lay forward. And thus it was.

I crept down the lushly carpeted corridor, keeping
in the half-shadows. Far down at the end of that
corridor a light was burning, and there was one lone
guard who patroled with languid, disinterested step
up and down before a heavily carven bronze door.

My best course of action, it seemed, was openhand-
edness, and thus with a bravado which is a misleading
index to my bravery, since my heart thumped so that
I waited for its bursting, I strode past that guard—
almost, that is. Then, a quick glance up and down
the corridor, and the scrape of good steel on gold as
I drew my weapon. Our swords clanged twice—one
fruitless lunge, a parry; and a final lunge which sent
the harran to the cruel gods of his ancestors.

Quickly then, I gathered him in my arms, and
dumped him without ceremony into the capacious in¬
terior of a gloriously inlaid vase.

r pHEN, for a moment, I patroled up and down in
A front of the door, uneasy, distrusting my incred¬
ible luck. Miraculous, that I had descended this far,
was so near my goal, yet so short of it! What lay
beyond that door? The princess? Or—death!

In a fury of impatience, I put my hand to the knob.
It turned, and I pushed the door open a crack. Dark¬
ness inside, save for a shimmering effulgence of light
such as a woman—the Princess?—might keep burn¬
ing in her sleep.

Another foot I pushed wide the door, so that I
might slip through. I closed it behind me, and to my
ears came the sound of soft breathing. Back against
the door, hand to my sword, I melted into the silence.
Danger here? Guards perhaps?

My eyes fitted themselves to the gloom and I saw a
large chamber, thick-carpeted, flanked with exotically
designed tapestries, simply furnished with silver mir¬
ror and toiletries—and a broad couch of darkest par-
wood, curtained against the impurities of the night
air with light purple gauzes.

And it was none other than the Empress of Mars
who lay there, immersed in slumber, her beauteous,
dark-skinned features as innocent-seeming as a
child’s.

And the lambent needle of my compass pointed
with unswerving steadiness toward that couch!

Almost I burst out with a groan. Where now to
find the Princess of Werg?

Useless thoughts to plague me in this dangerous
moment! I crossed the room, looked upon the per¬
fect features. My hand tightened on my sword hilt,
and slowly I withdrew it.

Assassination? Before the gods, I knew I could
never play a part in such an act. Were she to rear
up, dagger in hand, face contorted with her innate
cruelty, and lunge at me in death passion, I could
have struck, and thus in part have ridded my planet
of her decadent influence. But murder a woman, or
even a man, in sleep? Not I!

But the bracelet? For that I would go through fire.

Very quietly I withdrew the arm of the Empress
from beneath the silken coverlet, and my breath
caught in my throat as I thus revealed to my sight the
Royal Hinusian Bracelet. Softly I withdrew it. In
my palm I lay it, and seemingly there was a pool of
light in my hand. A changing, shifting wonder of
sparkles and prismatic brilliances, that well-nigh hid
the deepest shadows in the room. I gazed with fas¬
cination at the ancient, precious liazzes * set into the
texture of a subtly wrought metal weave, for never had
I beheld the Bracelet this close.

I deposited it quickly in the pocket of my skin-like
inner garment, and in the same moment the Empress
moaned and tossed in her sleep. Abruptly her eyes
opened, and in the same moment I saw consciousness,
full, sharp, enter them.

'VTET, with the miraculous poise and control of true
royalty, she made no slightest motion, save that
her face was swept with rage.

“What do you here, harran?” she whispered tensely.

“Quiet!” I hissed, and presented the point of my
blade to the whiteness of her throat. “Else the land
of Crill may lose its Empress!”

* Liazzes—precious stones, peculiar to Mars. They have mag¬
netic properties, which seem to have some connection with the Mag¬
netic Poles of Mars, reacting to them to throw off rays whose range
lies somewhere near the cosmic range, considered of great benefit to
health. Observations have proven the truth of this contention, and
it is to be regretted that they are so scarce. The existing jewels are
set into the Famous Hinusian Bracelet, emblem of royalty of Werg,
situated at the North Magnetic pole. It is the custom for the Em¬
press, or the Princess of Werg to wear the bracelet, for the beneficial
effect to her health, and therefore to the future ruler of the nation.
Its national importance far supersedes that of any earthly crown.—
Thompson’s Sociology of the Martian Nations.

THE EMPRESS OP MARS

Poised thus, thinking out some means of wresting
from her my princess’ location, I must have missed
the sigh of the opening door.

“You’ll drop your weapon, Wergite,” said a soft,
gentle voice with unmistakable meaning.

Resist? That were folly, if, as I suspected, the
man held a weapon which could act devastatingly
over a distance of twenty sword-lengths. With blind
anger gripping me, I nonetheless turned and faced my
captor.

He was not of great stature, nor yet of great
strength, from his looks, yet here, I knew, stood a
man of vast will and moral strength. No Crillian
this, with hard round face and hook nose, but a man
of some far country, to judge by the even lean cut of
countenance. I was struck by his pale hazel eyes,
and the sheen of skin stretched tight over his cheek¬
bones, so that a magnetic aura of living force seemed
to leap out at me. And it was that feeling of vast
will in his ej'es that made me sheath my sword, and
not the threat of that fabulously scarce weapon in his
hand whose lower-order rays can incinerate a man
at twenty ^word-lengths.

The Empress came upright on her couch, shielding
her naked body with a silken coverlet. Her voice
lashed out, “Well, Paran Leeah, why is it that you
wait? You saw his intentions, to loot me of my brace¬
let, to murder me in my sleep! Have done with him! ”

“Your bracelet, Flavia?” His brows went up as he
eyed her through the gloom. He slowly shook his
head, and his voice deepened tensely. “By the gods,
Flavia, what is this empire lust that runs so strongly
through your body? You’ve desecrated half of Mars,
subjugated a dozen nations and a hundred free cities.
Still not content with these riches, you must snatch
from within her country’s borders the Princess of
Werg and that bracelet which is so useless in Crill!”

She half spat at him in her ire. “Truly, Prince
Consort though you be, Paran Leeah, you go too far.
I’ll have your head for this, if you persist!”

“You’d sign my death warrant tonight,” he said,
with half-contempt, “and by the morning you’d be
begging my forgiveness with lips of love.”

His eyes softened on her as she sank back on her
couch, speechless, eyes blazing.

“Cruel, cruel,” he said, shaking his finely molded
head, and he sighed. “And now I have news for you
that will not sit well on your ears. You’ve been humil¬
iating the Princess of Werg by allotting her menial
tasks in the servants’ wing, and now you’ve paid for
your folly.”

TITER eyes widened. “Gone, then?”

“Gone,” said the gently voiced Prince. “How
I do not know, save that tradesmen are daily admitted
through the postern of the palace at the rear. Ere
this, servant girls have thus been taken by lustful
hucksters.”

As he spoke, a slow flush of disdain crept over her
face. “What care I that she has gone then?” she cried.

“I had no desire other than to humble her and her
royal family, to demonstrate how pitifully short a
time it shall be ere Werg is subjugated, enslaved even
as was its princess.”

“Subjugate Werg, whose invulnerable fortresses are
nature itself?” He shook his head, as his eyes swung
back to me. “An impossible task, my Flavia. And
now, Wergite,” and there was strange fire in his voice,
“you will come with me.”

I was baffled, trying to fathom his purpose. But
nothing loath, expecting anything from death to out¬
right freedom, I moved toward the door, still under
the compulsion of his flame pistol.

The Empress, she who owned one-half of Mars, and
was bent on owning the other, flung herself in front
of him “My bracelet!” she panted pleadingly.
“Paran Leeah!”

He brushed past her, this little man. “A mere
bauble in Crill,” he said without inflection, “but life
itself in Werg!”

And the door closed on the Empress Flavia, into
whose eyes I had seen leap a fury indescribable.

“For the moment I am your ally,” Paran Leeah
murmured as we moved down the corridor, and came
to the staircase. “But remember you are also my
prisoner. Continue down the stairs, and move
swiftly!”

A fantastic, meaningless situation! I could hold
no hope and yet no fear.

But we moved swiftly, well-enough, down through
level after level, for it was apparent that Paran Leeah,
who surely seemed all-powerful, was in fear of some
danger from behind.

Thus we reached ground level, past guards stand¬
ing like death-laden shadows about this vast hall,
turned right and trod a long, chill, lightless corridor,
when behind us I heard the march of swift harran
feet!

CHAPTER V

The Lock Beneath the Thasscr

“^ONTINUE at even pace,” said Paran Leeah.

Abruptly the harrans came through into the
corridor behind us, and the figure of a captain of the
guards stepped in front of us. True to Paran Leeah’s
instructions, I continued to move forward, and con¬
sequently the Captain of the Guards was forced to
move backward, though his sword was out.

“Excellency,” he said stiffly, “in the name of the
Empress Flavia, I require you to give yourself into
my care! ”

“What is it you wish, then?” inquired Paran Leeah,
regally, as if he had not heard aright.

“Her majesty requests your arrest, excellency!”

“Very well,” said Paran Leeah agreeably, never
once instructing me to cease my stride.

“I command you to stop, excellency!” said the des¬
perate harran, sweat beading his face. “You and your

36

FANTASTIC ADVENTURES

prisoner are to be taken in arrest immediately, else I
lose my head!”

Furiously he flung up his sword, presenting its
point to my stomach. “You shall lose it anyway,” I
snarled, as I was forced to a stop. I felt the flame
pistol of Paran Leeah taken from my back, and his
gentle voice murmured, “Wergite, prove your sword-
arm!”

Joyously I leaped back, whipped out my blade, and
with a single motion swept the harran’s away. His
face puckered with a frightful rage. “Have at you,
then!” he roared, and flung himself upon me.

Behind me I felt a terrific burst of heat. A wave
of some fetid, noisome odor was borne to my nostrils.
But so busy was I with my skilled adversary that not
till many moments later did I realize that Paran Leeah
flame pistol had sent eight good and true harrans to
the understanding hands of their ancestors.

I was too busy with my man, for I quickly saw
that he had earned his station. He had a lightning
like lunge and parry that had me fighting like mad,
and filled this narrow corridor with silver thunder.

He drove me back at first, his face hideous with
triumph.

“Die!” he cried, lunging, but I brought my blade
down across his with such force that I like to splinter
them both.

“Die yourself, harran!” I panted, and pressed him
back and back until he was braced against a heavily
barred door, fighting for his head, which doubtless
the Empress would have taken later anyway—so that
I felt no compunction when I struck his blade up and
away, stepped under it, and pierced him through to
the heart.

Ere I had a chance to gain my breath, Paran Leeah
had rolled the bloody figure away from the door and
was working a series of tumblers. The heavy, metal
door swung away and Paran Leeah motioned me
through.

I put foot to the first of a flight of steps, the un-
mistakeable odor of the dungeon drifting into my
nostrils. I turned sharply, to meet the eyes of the
Prince Consort. He looked me straight in the eye,
then placed the flame pistol back in its holster. He
stepped through after me, pulling the door close. I
heard it click tight.

He took my arm then, for there was naught save
darkness here, and thus led me forward, on a path
which took us past cells filled with the whimpering
and pleadings and idiocies of a hundred outraged
felons.

rp IN ALLY we stopped as I felt the hand of Paran
A Leeah drop to my shoulder. There was a soft laugh
in his voice. “Whatever inimical thoughts you have
of me, Wergite, dispel them at once. For now we are
fugitives from the same power, fighting together,
shoulder to shoulder. Agreed?”

“Agreed!” I cried, for there was something inex¬
pressibly noble and courageous about this little,

strong-willed man. “But why should you, Prince Con¬
sort to the Empress Fla via, flee from her?”

“Because,” he said somberly, “I am as much a pris¬
oner in Jador as are those wretches in the dungeons
behind us.” He was quiet for the moment. Then I
heard him working at the damp wall before us. I
heard rotten brick and mortar fall, then, after a mo¬
ment a grating sound, as of a door swinging wide.
A wave of rotten, cold air rushed at me. . . .

“A forgotten passageway,” murmured Paran Leeah,
“of which none save myself know.” His tone turned
bitter. “But come, my friend, we must away. Follow
the walls of the tunnel,” and desperate for haste my¬
self, I turned on my heel and plunged swiftly forward
into the damp blackness of that tunnel, the tunnel
door swinging shut behind.

And as we moved forward Paran Leeah briefly told
me his story, one that was eloquently bound up with
the turbulent events on Mars of the last few years.

Five Martian years ago, Crill had been but a single
large country, existing in peace with all other nations.
When the Empress Flavia came into power, however,
the peace treaties were thrown overboard, and Crill
began an active assault on those helpless, unprepared
countries on her flanks. Scarce three years had passed
ere Crill became a vast empire, embracing within its
borders a dozen nations and a hundred small prin¬
cipalities, and was raging avidly for yet more territory.

These wars of aggression soon claimed Hioppi, a
country of which Paran Leeah was king. It had been
a bloodless conquest, for Hioppi was ever a peaceful
nation; and when Paran Leeah had been presented at
the court of the Empress Flavia, she had evidently
been so impressed with his quiet, godlike mien, that
she had commanded marriage, her excuse being that
she wished to consolidate relations between the two
countries.

“I married her,” Paran Leeah said bitterly, “with
the hope of being able to influence her toward peace,
but little I knew how tender, how pathetic, how ut¬
terly feminine she could be, at times. Falling in love
with her has been my worse sin, and one for which
I’ll doubtless pay with many moments of heartbreak.

“When I found that I could not influence her to
give back to her plundered nations their freedom, I
knew that I must return to my homeland, to array
my people for battle. But that were sooner said than
done! For I found that I was a prisoner, under open
arrest, unable, hardly, to leave the palace, and def¬
initely not the city. Were I a man of might—one who
could wield a sword with effect, I would long since
have used this tunnel. . . . There is a step here, Dar-
ak of Werg.”

We pressed forward, I still at a loss to name our
destination.

“And for what reason did you choose the moment
of my entrance into the palace for escape?”

He laughed. “My intentions were hardly thought
out. Suffice to say, that I am of some official impor¬
tance in the Royal Palace. Thus, almost in the same

THE EMPRESS OF MARS

37

moment that I was informed of the abduction of the
Princess of Werg, the roof guard was also informing
me that news had come from Cammint of a Wergite,
who, through some duplicity, had gained entrance to
the palace.

“My first thought,” he acknowledged, “was for my
wife, Flavia. And as for choosing that moment, Dar-
ak of Werg, it was because, for the first time since my
stay here, I found a sword-arm that would willingly
back me up in my fight for the border. I have a flame
pistol, true, but it is not much good. One charge re¬
mains in it now, and I have determined to save that
until it will do the most good. It is a long trail to
Hioppi. It was a lucky thing which brought you to
Crill, else I had made the attempt alone, finally—
which, I make no doubt, would have ended with my
return to the palace, or at the least, would have spitted
me on the end of some harran’s sword.”

A strange tale, this! I now saw myself with a
double purpose—to rescue my princess, an impossible-
seeming task, and to conduct Hioppi’s king to the bor¬
der safely.

A S we moved forward, I recollected my promise to
^ the wondrous girl in the houseboat on the Thas-
ser. Despair welled up in my heart. I’d promised
to return ere dawn broke, and it must be that now
the Sun was making ready to struggle up out of his
ancient bed. Would she wait for me, even though I
failed in my promise?

With such thoughts to plague me, we again
came to a door, at the end of the dank tunnel.
I paused, not knowing where it led, but Paran
Leeah bade me help turn a long heavy bar. Thus,
with him pulling down, and I pushing up, a grinding
of rust-filled threads heralded the opening of the door,
or valve, rather.

“It has not been opened these past thousand years,”
said Paran Leeah. “I have traversed as far as this
valve, but my strength has not been great enough to
open it. Doubtless it was once intended for escape
by some remote ancestors of Flavia. At any rate,”
he added, as we fastened the valve behind us, “we
shall have a good dousing in the Thasser!”

“The Thasser!” I echoed in amaze.

For answer he pulled on my arm, and we came to
the blank, damp, absolute end of the tunnel. He bade
me reach upward, and my fingers closed on a huge
wheel. It was set into the side of the tunnel, and
doubtless operated a trap-door above us, which, when
opened, would let in the cold waters of the Thasser.

Our first certainty that the Thasser was actually
above us came abruptly, as the wheel turned. A
stream of water fairly drenched Paran Leeah, but his
only exclamation was one of intense satisfaction. As
we turned the wheel, with the air growing damper
and chillier by the second, the stream of water grew
in size, driven down by immense pressure, to judge by
its solid, thought-destroying roar.

The water first lapped at our ankles, gained our

knees, inexorably crowded up around our hips. We
stood shoulder to shoulder, wondering if, perchance,
we were to die like rats in a trap. I took the op¬
portunity of divesting myself of my harran’s finery,
for its weight would not help me in the waters. When
I’d finished, my only caparison was my sword belt
and sword, a tough skin jacket and breech clout.

Paran Leeah gripped my arm. The waters of the
Thasser now swirled beneath our arm pits. Again we
worked over the wheel, until the fall of water became
an intolerable pounding shattering against my ear
drums. The waters surged up past my chin, so that
I had to look upward in order to breathe.

I felt the wheel strain under my hands, realized
that Paran Leeah was already under water, and signal¬
ing that we open the trap above us to its widest. I
put my strength against it once more. It gave, and
from the sound I was certain that the entire Thasser
had forced its way in upon us.

In a rush the rising level overwhelmed me, and I
scarce had time to draw a breath ere I was com¬
pletely immersed, indeed half drowning. For a mo¬
ment I reached out for Paran Leeah, vainly!

I let go the wheel, and shot upward, my fingers
clawing for the opening. It resisted my frantic search,
and sightless, drowning, holding my breath was a
monstrous torture. And through my brain lanced the
thought of Paran Leeah! Had he escaped?

'VTO time for those thoughts, if I were not to die at
this moment. I need not tell you how sheerly
wonderful it was to grip the edge of that circular
aperture, to shoot myself upward with every ounce
of my dying strength.

What blessed relief it was when I broke through to
the surface of the Thasser, gasping, eyes bulging,
throat constricted! In another second my lungs would
have burst, and that had been the end of Darak of
Werg.

I opened my eyes, and flung away the hair matted
wetly across my face.

“Paran Leeah!” I called tensely. No answer! I
looked wildly about me, but—for this I thank my gods
—the Sun had not yet risen and the Thasser fog was
on the water. Nowhere was Paran Leeah, and in
desperation I made ready to dive, a foolish thought,
for already the waters of the Thasser had borne me
far downstream.

Sobbing in my anger at having lost my benefactor
and friend, I tried to fight upstream. Small use! In
remorse, I abandoned myself to the insistence of the
current, meantime taking note of my surroundings.
Little though I knew of the Thasser, or indeed of
Jador, still I knew that I was above that point at which
the houseboat of the hapless Deodum had been
anchored, where I had met the girl of my heart such
short, eventful hours before.

I waited with bated breath, scanning each pier
sharply as it slipped back and away. All manner of
sound, strange, muted, distant, entered my ears. The

5TIC ADVENTURES

MSp

yfl|f

*»»

lightened almost imperceptibly, I saw a shadowy hulk
form in the distance.

With joy, I redoubled my efforts, my sword, which
I had dared not discard, dragging at me. The shadow
grew, showing itself without doubt to be a houseboat,
but whether it were that of Deodum or not I did not
know.

I gained the gunwale, drew myself dripping to the
deck. Thoroughly exhausted, I flung myself to the
flooring, lay there panting. The warmth of life began
to flow back into my body.

Abruptly, something hurled itself upon me. In a
moment, I turned into a raging demon, fending off
the creature, but I was too weak for combat. Some¬
thing descended on my skull. The whole universe
cracked, and consciousness faded away.

CHAPTER VI
Screams In The Night

'y*/’ HEN 1 came t0 my senses, I was lying on a

r hard bench, the mournful lapping of the Thasser
in my ears. As I opened my eyes I thought
surely that I had ascended into the heaven

fisi

the waters of the Thasser
swirled beneath our armpits.

gnawing scream of the double-headed wharf-rats, _
the cry of the hochin in the monstrous city whose ^
towers and battlements loomed far up as ghostly
shadows; the plash of some aquatic serpent rearing J
up out of the waters. And suddenly into sight came '
the pier opposite which Deodum’s houseboat should
be—but was not!

Now indeed, did I feel as if life were of no more
moment, and in numb despair I drifted. I had failed
to locate the Princess of Werg, had lost Thilna and
Paran Leeah. Almost I abandoned myself to the freez¬
ing coldness of the Thasser. But then a flare of hope
shook me. The houseboat, in common with others
having no means of working its way upstream, must
then have drifted downstream!

With this thought, I set my frozen body in motion,
propelling myself through the waters with the slim
hope that I could catch up with the craft, which surely
must merely be drifting with the current.

After some time, during which the darkness had

THE EMPRESS OF MARS

39

of my fathers, for it was no less than the face of an
angel into which I looked.

The anxiety disappeared from her lovely eyes, and
she smiled. “It must be a strong blow, I see, that
could take the life of Darak of Werg!” she exclaimed.
“But Paran Leeah—”

“Paran Leeah! ” I muttered, struggling to my feet,
and taking her hands in mine. “He escaped then!”
Comprehension coursed through my mind simultane¬
ous with a blinding pain through my head. Paran
Leeah, of course, had thought me dead, and had
thought me an intruder in the mist. He had drifted,
even as I, had struggled aboard the houseboat, and
convinced Thilna of his friendliness.

Then, without hindrance, I tenderly took her in my
arms and kissed her—I, who had thought never to see
her again. “I like to have died a thousand deaths in
my fear of losing you,” I said huskily. “Every mo¬
ment since then my thoughts have not been of the
Princess of Werg, but of you, and always you!”

She smiled roguishly. “Does my warrior wear his
heart upon his sleeve, that a mere maid of Jaray
should steal it in a momentary meeting?”

“Momentary?” I cried, clasping her slim shoulders
and holding her off at arm’s length. “Know you that
that moment was as a thousand years, and all too short
at that!”

Gently, she placed a finger to my lips. “And thus
it was with me,” she said lowly, and placed her lips
tenderly on mine. “And thus we plight our troth!”
I caught her slim body once again in my arms, nor yet
did I ever wish to let go.

A moment later, perhaps circumspectly, Paran
Leeah descended to the cabin from the port com¬
panionway. He stood looking at me wryly.

“Truly, Darak of Werg,” he exclaimed, “it were
well I did not see fit to use the one remaining charge
in my flame pistol on the intruder who boarded us last
night.”

Laughing, I forgave him, and was about to turn
back to my beloved, when a chilling voice rang in our
ears:

“Ho! Houseboat! To anchor, and make ready for
inspection, upon order of Her Imperial Majesty, the
Empress Flavia of Mars!”

VX/E looked at each other askance. Then, as one

* ’ man, Paran Leeah and I ran up the starboard
companionway, and peered out the small window of
the door. Idling alongside our quarter beam, through
the yellow waters of the Sunlit Thasser, I saw a low,
red official cutter, manned by a dozen harrans gazing
toward our craft.

It was daytime now, though the sun, a glorious
blazing object, would set shortly. The blow Paran
Leeah had dealt had rendered me unconscious for
many hours, and during those hours, the houseboat
must have drifted many tens of lothala* down the

* Lothala—a distance equal to one-eighth of an Earth mile.

Thasser. Evidently, a general alarm for Paran Leeah
and myself had gone out, and the soldiery was scour¬
ing the nation for us.

I grasped Paran Leeah’s arm, and we quietly
descended the companionway.

“Our best plan,” I told Thilna and him, “is to say
nothing at present.” To Thilna I said, “You can
swim?” She nodded briefly.

Urging them ahead of me, we ascended the port
companionway, to the upper deck, and stood there
huddled in the lee of the stern cabin. I looked around
the corner of the cabin, saw the trim stern of the
radium-powered cutter just as it edged past our
quarter beam and ground against us amidships.

“Quickly!” I exclaimed, and motioned the two of
them into the water. Puzzledly, but without ques¬
tioning me, they obeyed, and Thilna lithely let her¬
self over the gunwale, Paran Leeah following after.

In accordance with my instructions, they sank be¬
neath the waters, Thilna throwing a smilingly re¬
proachful look at me as the current bore her away.

At the same moment, came the grate of harran
boots on the deck of the houseboat as they boarded
it. My short sword still at my hip, I also let myself
over the gunwale, just as a group of harrans came
into view around the forward cabin.

I worked my way along in the shadow of the slant¬
ing hull until I was under the stern. The red cutter,
a powerful craft, was now visible, manned, as I knew
it would be, by a single harran at the tiller.

Swiftly, out of sight now, I worked my way, almost
submerged, between the two craft, dragging at my
sword meanwhile. The harrans had bound the two
boats together with a bow line, a thick length of tough
yamp. I could just see the helmsman, a lanky bearded
fellow of great strength, sitting idly in the stern, wait¬
ing for his fellows to complete their inspection of this
apparently tenantless craft.

I drew my sword, and with a single, short motion
severed the connecting rope.

In the same moment I forced the two craft apart,
I drew myself swiftly aboard the cutter.

A T once, as if he had been intuitively warned of my
coming, I was leaped upon by the single harran.
Indeed, so surprising was his onslaught that I was
forced to one knee as I fought. And it were truly
death then had I not, in pure accident, lunged against
the cutter’s port gunwale, causing the craft to list.

My assailant. lost his balance scarce long enough
to enable me to gain a secure footing, so that he drove
me backward until I had the feel of his style. In a
trice I had driven him astern, the while he fought with
a ferocity that was magnificent. He fought hard,
fiercely, and well, and snarling with rage, again forced
me back.

As might be expected, the harrans stranded aboard
the houseboat soon gathered amidships, yelling en¬
couragement to their fellow, at a loss for a course of
action. Most Crillans are averse to water, for some

40

FANTASTIC ADVENTURES

reason, so that it was not until the tide of battle had
swung my way that a few of them thought to plunge
into the waters to my adversary’s rescue.

Then indeed, I saw that I must haste. Should an¬
other harran board the cutter, I were dead in all
truth.

“Die!” I shouted, and lunged forward. For a mo¬
ment our blades sparkled in the westering Sun with
prismatic brilliance, the face of my man a horrible
thing to see, so full of rage was it. I pressed him back,
mindful of the necessity of his death. A single lunge,
and my blade came away running with good Martian
blood. My man uttered a despairing shriek, and
plunged overboard into the freezing waters of the
Thasser.

One of the harrans in the water had reached the
cutter, and was striving to lift himself into the vessel.
With grim humor, I ground the heel of my naked foot
down on his fingers. With a howl of anguish, he let
go.

Exultantly, with a final taunting laugh at the
stranded harrans, I sat down in the stern and pressed
the starter of the radium motor. No noise at all, here,
but immediately the powerful craft began to put on
speed, until the fateful houseboat of dead Deodum was
far astern.

Then I shouted out loud the names of Thilna and
Paran Leeah. My heart almost filled to bursting when
I heard a faint shout dead ahead. A few moments later,
I held the cold body of my loved one clasped firm in
my arms, and Paran Leeah was wringing the last ounce
of power from the motor. We were cutting the waters
of the Thasser swiftly, bound for Werg.

And now for the first time, I had an opportunity
to talk with Thilna. She told me that sometime after
I had left her, the docks had begun literally to swarm
with harrans, and fearful that one would attempt to
board the houseboat, she had, with some difficulty,
to be sure, raised anchor, set the rudder, and drifted
downstream, hoping I’d follow after. As Paran Leeah
had boarded the cutter, she told me, she had almost
pushed him back, until accident made him mention
my name.

As we spoke, I noticed a peculiar expression on her
face.

“Something is worrying you, Thilna?” I inquired.
“There is scant need for it, you know. For three score
lothala there is no human habitation.”

“And after the three score lothala?” she queried,
smiling.

I shrugged. “We shall have to abandon the cutter,”
I admitted. “For it is unlikely that we shall be al¬
lowed to use the Potah Locks, where the Thasser
must needs drop to a lower level.”

CHE dropped her eyes, frowning. Then she lifted
^ them again. “I hope you will be able to forgive
me,” she said soberly.

“Forgive you?” I demanded. “And pray tell, for
what? You speak in riddles, my sweet little one.”

But at that moment, she had no chance to make
answer. The Sun had long since descended into his
ancient bed, and fog was again drifting over the
Thasser. In the last two hours, at varying intervals,
barges, propelled upstream by slaves laboriously
turning huge wheels, had been passing us.

Thus far, we had no difficulty. Our best move had
been to act quite naturally, and openhandedly stand
upright and salute the barge men. True, we possessed
an official craft, propelled by one of the few radium
motors on Mars, but, if given reason, most persons
will assume much, and these that we saw assumed us
to be in legal possession, since we certainly betrayed
no appearance of any guilt.

Now I saw one of these barges plowing upstream
toward us, a frightfully lengthy craft, as long as the
canal was broad. Too well I knew how such a craft
could block us if it so wished. If harrans were per¬
chance aboard, I knew that peril certainly threatened
us.

Now my worst fears were realized.

For, seen through fog of night as a long black sha¬
dow, the barge was hastily swinging about, present¬
ing her quarter to us, and in a few moments more,
our passage would be blocked completely. There were
harrans aboard, for a fact!

Paran Leeah desperately played with the radium
motor, but already the shaft was spinning at maxi¬
mum. With a groan I saw that we’d not make it.

The thin air rushed with frightful force past our
ears. That shadow in the fog grew. Paran Leeah was
now heading the cutter inshore, toward the single, slim
passageway that remained. Almost, by a hair’s
breadth, we made it in safety, but then the barge filled
the gap. Paran Leeah swung the tiller, and I like to
have gone overboard under the force of our swerve.
Straight for shore, at headlong velocity, we went, and
the cutter hit the mudflats with such speed that it
flung itself entirely clear of the Thasser before it
stopped.

With Thilna in my arms, I literally leaped from the
cutter, and fled into the night on the heels of Paran
Leeah.

A score of savage voices rang out behind us, ex¬
horting us to stop.

I set Thilna to her feet, and, her cheeks flushed
with excitement, she ran like the wind beside me.
Soon we had lost ourselves in the canal mists, beating
our way across strange, soggy lands, known neither to
me nor to my comrades.

We heard no sounds of pursuit, and felt justified in
stopping to take council.

“And now,” said Paran Leeah in his gentle voice,
“where go we now? The Wergite border is certainly
no more than three score lothala distant, which dis¬
tance we cannot make in the night that remains.”

Abruptly I tensed, blood racing in my veins. Out
of the near distance, out of the night, came a scream
to make the blood run cold. Again and again it came,
a horrid, loathsome, bloodcurdling cacaphony beating

THE EMPRESS OF MARS

41

nauseously out of the night.

“Jerais!”* exclaimed Thilna and Paran Leeah, all
in the same breath.

As one, we ran toward the creatures who thus filled
the air with their hideous cries.

CHAPTER VII
Pursuit and Death

A BRUPTLY we came to a high wooden fence. It
was not constructed to keep marauders out, but
to keep jerais within.

With a single whispered word of reassurance, I
climbed the fence, and disappeared from the sight of
my companions. I dropped quietly to the hard packed
ground, the shrieks of the otherwise gentle beasts fill¬
ing the night.

I made a series of low, clicking sounds, almost a
moan, and with elation I saw one of the tenuous-seem¬
ing beasts moving out of the fog toward me. It rubbed
against me, its marvelously long, silken hair standing
out from its transparent body as if, for all the world,
it were immersed in some clear-water lake.

I gathered three of the triple-legged beasts about
me, and made off toward the corral gate, congratu¬
lating myself on my luck. Valuable animals, these,
and this was apparently the royal breeding grounds,
on which we had inadvertently stumbled.

I quickened my stride, and thus had the ill-luck to
stumble upon a feeding trough—a thin, metal affair
which toppled with a fearful clanging.

I broke into a run, but ere I reached the gate, driv¬
ing my beasts before me, a torch flared out wildly, il¬
luminating me in its glare.

A cry of many voices, a clamor, broke out on the
night, and now, fearing again for safety, I flung open
the gate, and with fumbling fingers, swung it wide. In
the single look I had behind me, I saw harrans! True,
the royal breeding grounds, guarded against rascals
by soldiery!

“T)ARAN LEEAH!” I shouted, and was rewarded
with a quiet voice in my ear. Good! The jerais,
intelligent animals, sat down when they saw what was
wanted. I threw Thilna to the back of one, she being
well-nigh buried in the airlight fluff of hair. The pound
of harran feet nearing us, Paran Leeah and I hastily
boarded our mounts, and with a single, stroking pres-

* The favorite mount of Martians. An animal slightly larger than
a horse, but possessing an illusory appearance of massiveness due to
a fluff of silken hair which flows lightly all about them, giving the
impression of being immersed in water. They are delicate limbed
and bodied, utterly transparent, so that one can easily observe tbe
function of every organ. However, there is no beast whose strength
and endurance can equal that of the fabulous jerai. It has a fleet
running motion which seems to float along without jar or shock
from contact with the ground. The impression of a rider is that of
swift skating on ice, minus the usual body motion, gliding along at
express-train speed. A jerai can travel sixty miles without halting, and
in a Martian day, can easily cover two hundred miles, carrying
two riders .—Fauna of Mars, Settlement Survey.

sure, to the base of the jerais’ skulls, we were off,
scarce able to see for the masses of hair in our faces.
Those jerais will ever command my respect. Thin
though their limbs, transparent their bodies beneath
the fluff of hair, yet there is a speed and strength in
them that surpasses comprehension!

We sped with hardly a sense of motion through the
ghostly mist, the two tiny moons of Mars riding high
above us, astride fairy creatures of silk and light.

For an hour, at what seemed accelerating pace, we
were borne across land that had now become desert,
fog gone, and safety, so we thought, ahead.

But then, from out of the distance, I heard the
rhythm of pounding hoofs. My heart froze within
me, as I realized that these jerais we strode were
merely intended for the chariots of Grill, while those
of the pursuing harrans were selected mounts, bred
for speed.

Paran Leeah caught my attention. “Within the
hour,” he cried out, “they’ll have us surrounded.”

“And within the hour we’ll cross the border into
Werg,” I made answer. “Onward!”

But though we coaxed our beasts to greater speed,
and they seemed to comply, gentle animals, the sounds
of pursuit grew.

Now, with Werg but five lothala distant, I could
see our pursuers with the eye as I turned. We forged
on, up and down the rise and fall of the desert, and
once I caught the eyes of Thilna upon me. She mur¬
mured something I could not hear. I smiled, ges¬
tured an assurance I did not feel.

Abruptly, I saw mountains rising mistily out of
the distance, and a choking emotion arose in my
throat. Could we but make those mountains, the hilly
country of my beloved Werg, all would be well. But
I saw no escape, for within the moment, our pursuers
would have us.

But a moment later, I noted with horror that Paran
Leeah was not beside us. I twisted my head, and saw
that his mount had come to a standstill. I saw Paran
Leeah jump from the jerai, and calmly await the on¬
coming horde.

Hr HEY bore down on him, shouting fiercely the war-
cries of their ancient nation. Almost they were
upon him, slight little prince of far Hioppi, but still he
stood there.

Then a wonderous thing came about! The night
turned into a hell of flame. The bulbous desert weeds
reflected a vivid, leprous red. The stars, vivid though
they were, were blotted out in that awful surge of
brilliance.

1 heard a horrible series of screams that quickly
died out to a nothingness. A wave of fetid air struck
my nostrils. All was quiet, now. I knew, then, that
safety at last had claimed us.

A moment later Thilna, trembling from the reac¬
tion, was in my arms, and Paran Leeah’s jerai gained
our side. He leaped to the ground, smiling quietly.

He patted the flame pistol in his hand. “Useless

42

FANTASTIC ADVENTURES

now,” he said. “But it served its best purpose. We
are safe. I to wend my way to my distant, helpless
country, you, with your mission fulfilled, and the girl
of your heart in your arms,” and he looked strangely
at Thilna. He added, heavily, “But I—without my
Empress.”

“How say you?” I demanded, struck by that look
he gave Thilna. “My mission,” and my own heart
was heavy as I spoke, “is not fulfilled. True, I have
the bracelet, and the princess of my heart, but the
Princess of Werg is yet a prisoner in the land of
Crill! ”

Thilna reached up a gentle white hand and stroked
my face. “Darak of Werg,” she whispered, glorious
eyes alight, “in your arms at this moment you hold,
all in one, the princess of your heart, and the elusive
Princess of Werg!”

I leaped back from her. “What say you?” I cried
in shocked consternation.

“It is true,” she insisted. “Paran Leeah, who saw
me in the royal palace ere we met again on the Thas-
ser, can vouch for me. It was the Princess of Werg
who was spirited from the royal palace by Deodum,
for his own evil purposes, on the very night you found
me.”

“But your hair!” I gasped, feeling as if the very
universe were cracking about me. “It is night-black,
while that of the princess is golden as the Sun itself! ”

Paran Leeah, smiling with amusement, broke in. “I
knew Thilna was the princess, Darak of Werg, the
moment I set eyes upon her on the Thasser. It was
the palace barber, a spy of Deodum’s who dyed her
hair—and it made an effective disguise. For there are
no golden haired women in Crill.”

Now the meaning came clear and rage rose within
me. “You sent me into Jador on a fool’s mission, then,
when already I had attained my object! ” I cried furi¬

ously. It hurt to be made a fool by her I loved.

“Your object was your princess,” she said, with a
flash of her proud eyes. “But was not the Jloyal
Hinusian Bracelet of more worth to Werg than a mere
princess? Had I revealed my identity, you would not
have dared leave me.”

At this, I could not nurture my fury further, and
taking her white hand in my own, I dropped speech¬
lessly to one knee, so overcome was I with emotion.

Paran Leeah suddenly spoke, and I raised my head.

“I must go,” he said, his fine eyes shadowed. He
had gained his freedom, but had lost his Empress. “A
long, happy life, to you, Darak of Werg, and to you,
whom I know best as Thilna. It may be that someday
we shall meet again, and may that day not be long.”

“And may we meet again,” I murmured as our eyes
met in a salute that tokened our eternal friendship,
“as King, once more, of Hioppi!”

Then he wheeled, mounted his jerai, and in a mo¬
ment was lost in the enveloping night.

And I knelt at the feet of my princess, until she
knelt beside me.

“Why do you kneel, Darak of Werg?” she said
gently, tears sparkling on the edge of her lashes. “A
royal Princess of Werg would not disdain in mar¬
riage the lowest laborer in the field.”

She added, with a roguish quirk to her lips, “And
my dear one, I hope that the mightiest warrior of
Werg will not disdain in marriage the lowly maid of
Jaray, whom he first met in the houseboat of Deodum
on the Thasser.”

Slowly I drew her to her feet, and full upon the
lips I kissed her, my beloved, my princess in all truth
now. And the scream of my jerai rose into the night,
drifted off across the Martian wastes, as if to cement
in fact a love which I felt the destruction of a world
could not break asunder.

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Goddess

CHAPTER I
The Glass Wall

“t) LAZES!” muttered Jerry Miles. He rumpled
his flaxen hair in perplexity. “Wish old Prof.
Higgins back at U.S.C. could see this.”

Jerry was gazing amazedly at such a scene as he
had never before seen, and that it should be in the
desert wastes of northern Afghanistan was equally as
incredible.

Several hundred feet away were a number of squat
buildings. Composed of a substance that might have
been an opaque glass, they looked as if they had been
molded in a gigantic die-cast. But these structures
were mere details, for beyond towered an object that
dwarfed all other buildings into puny insignificance.

It was a wall, a stupendous barrier that rose sheer,
unguessable hundreds of feet heavenward, curving
from sight on either side in the distance. More amaz¬
ing yet was the fact that it was transparent! A ti¬
tanic bulwark that might have been composed of a
single piece of .the finest crown glass!

He strode to it, and it loomed above huge as a
mountain of quartz. For what curious purpose had it
been built? It seemed sunk firmly in the earth, and
rose sheer without a break to a terrible height.

Eagerness mounted in him as he saw a group of
levers near a circular door. But they were jammed,
and his mightiest efforts would not budge them.

Then he saw the ladder. A series of
rungs, it was, projecting from the wall
and extending up out of sight. They
seemed molded as part of the wall
itself firm and apparently safe.

In an instant Jerry was decided.
He started up the ladder. Keen an¬
ticipation fired him, and he worked
vigorously at the task of climbing.
W Soon, however, he began to tire. Only
f then did he realize the seriousness of
the task he had allotted himself. One
little fumble or slip. . . .

Below, the little group of buildings
Pvj contracted as they sank lower and
H lower. He could look over an im-
n mense distance, across the shimmer-
IT ing desert like a sea of silver. He had
I the horrible impression of being sus-
ft pended free in space.

F Finally, toward noon, his flagging

' muscles carried him slowly over the
brink of the barrier and onto the top.
i He stumbled exhausted to its surface
54 and lay for a while reveling in the feel
jk of a solid mass beneath him. Then he
gt raised his head.

=3 Neena pointed dramatically to-

|a ward the strangest, most lovely

jdk vision Jerry had ever seen, indeed

■ a sleeping goddess!

46

FANTASTIC ADVENTURES

'T'HE top of the wall was perhaps fifty feet in width,
A apparently the same thickness as the base. It was
as smooth and level as a dance floor, curving away in
either direction like a modern highway. Directly
across from him were the top rails of a ladder leading
down the inner side.

Jerry rose stiffly to his feet, gave a wry glance be¬
hind him at the desert. The whole arid plain was vis¬
ible, curving up to the surrounding mountains like a
vast saucer. The height was terrific; three or four
thousand feet, and the sense of it caught in his stom¬
ach like a nauseous weight. He turned away, ap¬
proached the inner side of the barrier with quicken¬
ing interest. An utterly strange, unearthly scene lay
spread beneath him.

Weird jungle seemed to cover the land below. Jum¬
bles of green, banks of livid crimson lining the lake,
and here and there spots of yellow. Grotesque plants,
possibly, vegetation bizarre and alien in appearance.

Stranger still was the atmosphere that filled the
basin. Jerry grunted his amazement. A deep blue-
green, almost of curdling consistency, it seemed, that
covered the scene to within a few feet of the wall’s top
like a sea of water. Faint purple clouds floated
within.

For a while Miles gazed at this landscape of vreird
beauty spread beneath him, wondering and speculat¬
ing at all its mysteries. Then his eyes caught a steady
unhurried movement over the masses of green; some¬
thing rising upward. He saw that it was a giant bril¬
liantly argent globe ascending through the blue gas.
Wonder gripped him as he realized that it was a bub¬
ble, formed somehow on the plain of luxuriant vege¬
tation below. As it rose nearer he saw that its diam¬
eter was perhaps ten feet, that it was moving quite
fast. Then with a ripple it burst through the surface
of gas and vanished into nothingness.

Jerry’s gaze went back to the broad land beneath.
Quickly he saw another moving sphere in the distance.
Then two more at one side, and as he gazed intently
he discovered more, dozens, hundreds of them scat¬
tered all over the basin floor in little clusters. They
were motionless, but one here and there broke loose to
glide to the surface—like bubbles in a fermenting
liquid, he thought.

For a long time Miles gazed in rapt wonder at the
jungle. He deliberated a little on venturing down, but
there was a thick unwholesomeness about the gas fill¬
ing the basin he didn’t like. Then, too, the prospect
of an added descent and climb was not pleasing.

But his curiosity overcame his inertia, and soon
Miles found himself making the long ladder descent
into the strange valley below. About him flowed the
blue-green gas, tumbling and billowing upward like
the slow moving figments of a dream. Warm, it was,
laden with sweet heavy fragrance from nameless
jungle growths. It exerted a physical pressure almost
like a liquid, but aside from a few retching gasps, it
seemed not to affect him.

With a tinge of elation, he soon reached bottom.

Spheres were all about, ranging from marble-size to
giant ten foot globes that dotted the landscape with
silver profusion. As he had suspected, they grew over
clumps of vegetation, a large bubble here and there
swaying gently till it broke from its insecure mooring
to float up out of sight. Other spheres were in profu¬
sion, too, ones he had not seen before. They were
larger than the bubbles, twenty to thirty feet, and
hung suspended, balloon-like, a score of yards above
the ground from tawny cables. Their green color had
made them invisible from above, but now they stood
out sharply, substantial enigmatical objects.

He cast a wary glance about. He could see the
basin’s massive wall curving to obscurity on either side
far in the distance. Visibility was poor, and he real¬
ized also that the riotous foliage would offer conven¬
ient hiding places for dangerous animals. He hitched
the gun holster to a more accessible position on his
hip, then stepped forward onto the yielding moss car¬
pet.

CHAPTER II
Neena

ILTARDLY had he taken a dozen steps than a faint
rustling from a tangled bank of green before him
drew his attention. He whipped out his gun, and then
his muscles went limp in utter surprise.

For there stood a woman!

Jerry gasped his amazement. Nothing could have
been more startlingly incongruous than a woman in
this bizarre jungle. That the woman was of breath¬
taking loveliness only increased his surprise.

Her body was like a sleek pale-bronze flame of
perilous beauty. A slender body curved and rounded,
half clothed, half revealed by a silken tight-fitting
robe of yellow. Her hair, Miles could see, fell about
her shoulders like tumbling black tresses spun from
the essence of cosmic space. Her eyes also were jet,
her face oval, exotic, red lips curved in a smile as she
stood gazing at him.

Then with graceful, almost feline movements she
strode toward Jerry, halted before him. His throat
felt choked, dry. Chaotic emotions pulsed through
him at her nearness. She spoke, her voice soft,
throaty, and again he started. For she used a root-
form of the ancient Semitic tongue of which Aramic
and Phoenician languages were representatives. Her
meaning, if not her words, were clear.

She repeated them.

“Welcome to Iroq, Lord Zendfap. We await your
bidding.” Then, as Miles stood in silent confusion,
she went on, a puzzled frown wrinkling her brow.
“You are silent. Something displeases you? I,
Neena, High Priestess of Iroq, have come alone to wel¬
come you; that is as it should be. Perhaps it is I then,
in whom you find disfavor?”

She stood close before Miles, the dark pools of her
eyes looking deep into his, the heady fragrance of her

THE SLEEPING GODDESS

47

hair thick in his nostrils. She was like a pulse-quick¬
ening vision of Astarte come to life. Yet there was
something in the dark depths of her eyes that sent a
little tug of doubt through him. It was a cold calcu¬
lating something that seemed not so much a conscious
quality as it was inborn. Yet Jerry’s senses pounded
at the nearness of the woman. Slowly a smile once
again parted those crimson lips. She had seen the un¬
disguised admiration on his face.

Miles struggled for words, his tongue fumbling the
unfamiliar syllables. “No one—god—or mortal,
could find fault with such as you. It is merely that
your words confuse me. I am not Lord Zendfap—
whoever he might be.”

The woman’s laugh was like the sonorous mellow
notes of a bell. She let her eyes pass over him, his
strong square-cut face, his tall muscular body.

“Lord Zendfap jests,” she said appreciatively.
“Who else could come from the nether land beyond
the Wall? Indeed, who else could breathe the evil
air? And you are different, much different from the
men of Iroq. . . .”

Her eyes glowed deeply as she appraised him anew.

Quick interest stirred in Jerry Was it possible that
people had lived in this strange thick atmosphere so
long that normal air was injurious to them?

“The air up there”—he gestured up at the misty
dimness of the Cyclopean wall—“is poison to your
people?”

The black eyes widened with surprise. “Not poison.
It isn’t enough—to breathe. Surely Lord Zendfap
knows that! But come. The people of Iroq await
you.”

Neena saw the movement and must have sensed
something of Jerry’s perplexity. She laughed gaily.

“It is only one of my servants. I left them to wait
beyond the foliage. They will take us into Iroq.”

Miles saw that two more of the robots, identical to
the first, were striding up. Dangling from two out¬
ward held tentacles of the third was a canopied litter,
elaborately embellished and inscribed with strange
characters. As the metal thing halted near by, Jerry
became conscious of a soft whirring noise issuing from
each, like the mechanical rhythm of turning shafts
and gears.

A slim golden arm was tugging at Jerry’s sleeve.
“Come,” said the woman’s throaty voice. “Your se¬
dan chair, Lord Zendfap.” She gestured, urged him
towards the richly bedecked seat dangling from the
robot’s appendages. Dazedly he seated himself, no¬
ticing absently that the tentacles did not sag in the
least under his weight.

Desperately he tried to shake off the aura of strange¬
ness and unreality that held him. Certainly this was
no dream or hallucination, this incredible world in
which he found himself. This fantastic transparent
wall cupping a strange thick atmosphere and bizarre
jungle. And then the woman herself—Neena, High
Priestess of Iroq, she had called herself. Where did
she fit in? Certainly her kind had not built the wall,
for her few words had shown her to believe in a
“nether land” beyond, and in a pagan god “Zendfap.”

Miles smiled faintly. The thought of duplicity did
not please him, but neither could he turn from some¬
thing that promised novel adventure. He couldn’t
help it if she insisted he was that god Zendfap!

CHE was at his side, crooking a warm bare arm
^ through his. She faced the weird forest then, and
uttered a clear, shrill call. Immediately from some¬
where ahead came a dull thud, thud, thud as of huge
thumping feet, and the sound of bodies smashing
through fleshy growths.

Unconsciously Miles tensed himself, set his jaw
grimly. There was an alien unnatural note to that
sound he didn’t like. But the next moment his mus¬
cles sagged in complete surprise. For, pushing be¬
tween a tangle of yellow vegetation was a thing so
strange, so utterly at variance to any surrounding that
he could do nothing but stare.

A lustrous red machine was coming toward them.
But a machine that stood on four jointed legs project¬
ing outward spider fashion. Eight feet tall it was, its
body a stubby upright cylindrical section from which
three pliable tapering tentacles dangled. Surmount¬
ing its body was a “head,” a ruddy metal globe four
feet in diameter, completely smooth except for three
lens-tubes protruding outward and spaced triangu¬
larly, close together.

The thing thudded forward on metal feet, and its
lens seemed to glow with sentient consciousness.
The hair on Miles’ neck stiffened. He dropped his
hand to his holster.

NTEENA was seating herself gracefully in the cano¬
pied palanquin next to him. She uttered a sharp
command and the contrivance jolted into life, stalked
forward with a steady mechanical stride that sent the
litter swaying like a birdcage in the grasp of a running
man. The other two automatons followed at either
side and a little behind. Lithely the woman leaned
toward Jerry.

“Long ages have my people kept sentries to watch
for your coming. Today their vigil ended when they
saw you ascend the Wall. Your quarters at the Pal¬
ace are in readiness.”

She called another command and their strange steed
plunged forward more swiftly.

The green balloons that he had discovered on
emerging from the “elevator,” proved to be plants.
Huge thirty foot spheres of vegetative tissue appar¬
ently filled with sustaining gas and growing to the
ground by cable-stalks. At the juncture where these
stems entered earth they were provided with thorns,
cruel spear-sized spines radiating outward like the
closely spaced spokes of a huge wheel; a natural
cheval-de-frise that would certainly protect the stalk.

Miles felt a desire to question Neena about these
odd plants, hut something deep within him cautioned,
warned him peremptorily not to show too great an ig-

48

FANTASTIC ADVENTURES

norance. Zendfap would be expected to know all
about his land. And Jerry remembered, too, that cold
something that lurked in the depths of the woman’s
eyes. What would happen if she were to be convinced
he was not a deity? No telling what power she
wielded in this fantastic place. . . .

The robots were carrying them swiftly over the
mossy ground. They mounted the crest of a gentle
swell and for a moment Jerry could peer above the
massed vegetation. His eyes were caught by a slen¬
der white tower thrusting up dimly in the distant
thick atmosphere. Neena gave a quick nod at it.

“Yonder is the Temple of the Gods. You shall
dwell there after your wedding day.”

Jerry coughed, choked back his surprise. “My
wedding day?” he managed in a voice that didn’t ring
with the nonchalance intended.

“Truly,” replied Neena, black eyes studying him
enigmatically. “What other reason would bring Zend¬
fap among the mortals of Iroq?”

“What other indeed?” responded Miles, and deter¬
mined mentally to learn more about the god Zendfap
at his first opportunity.

"PRESENTLY their ruddy steed carried them to a
A wide trail cleared of the carpeting moss. It cut
straight over the low hillocks toward the white spire
visible now, looming larger each second above the clus¬
tered brilliant vegetation. Finally the path widened
into a well-defined road, and here and there appeared
low stone houses, crude of construction. People lined
the way; not a shouting waving throng, but a silent
curious one. He saw that they were a thick-set,
swarthy folk; on the whole the crowd displayed dull-
witted impassiveness.

The woman at Jerry’s side sat stiffly, regally in the
chair as they passed down the thickening aisle of
people.

They were in a village now, all the houses and build¬
ings constructed uniformly and unskillfully from dark
stone; certainly not the handiwork of the people who
had built the great wall. . . .

Directly down the road, and looming above all, was
that slender tower of white. The beauty of its un¬
earthly architecture caught in Jerry’s throat. He ges¬
tured at it.

“It is old, the Temple of the Gods?” He tried to
keep the querying inflection from his voice, but Neena
glanced up quickly, eyed him quizzically.

“None should know better than you, my Lord. It
has been here since the beginning, even before the
first mortal touched foot on Iroq’s soil. It is—Tem¬
ple of the Gods.”

The thronged people stood away respectfully from
about the white building, nor did they follow as the
robot carrying Miles and Neena plodded mechanically
to the temple and halted before a low white porch.
With lithe grace the woman sprang from the litter.
She turned to face Miles and he read a baffling chal¬
lenge, a malicious eagerness in her eyes.

“Come,” sounded her mellow voice, “I know you
are anxious to see the Sleeping Goddess. ...”

Obeying in silent wonder, Jerry stepped from the
swinging litter and followed at the girl’s side into a
long cool corridor with slender flanking pilasters alter¬
nately fluted and twisted. Then up a spidery curving
stairway to a magnificent circular room, steeply
vaulted.

CHAPTER III
Sleeping Goddess

npHE circular room itself was strikingly bare except
A for the highly carved and ornamented walls. The
floor was a glistening black expanse like a polished ob¬
sidian dance floor. In the center was a dais upon
which rested a golden metal object perhaps seven feet
in length. Oblong, it was, and reminded Miles strong¬
ly of a coffin.

Neena’s slim arm was in his, drawing him to it.

“See,” she whispered throatily, “the Sleeping God¬
dess!”

Jerry stared through the curved transparent cov¬
ering of the golden box, and his eyes were caught by
the vision within.

She lay stretched there as if in death, a young wom¬
an of pale cameo-like beauty. Hair lustrous golden as
the coffin that held her, coiled spirals of it falling about
the pure whiteness of an aristocratic face. Fine
matchless beauty was there, more enhanced by the
slender curves of her body showing beneath the silken
whiteness of a simple gown. Her tiny feet were shod
in classical sandals.

Jerry could not repress an intake of breath. Here
was real beauty, understandable womanly loveliness,
nothing of the perilous beauty of Neena.

Something else within the golden coffin caught his
eye. The girl’s right arm lay at her side and close to
her relaxed hand was a group of small silver levers
projecting from the plush-lined wall. Strange dials
and meters were there too. Some faint suspicion of the
truth sent the blood pounding eagerly through Jerry’s
veins. The Sleeping Goddess: could it be that . . . ?

Neena’s black eyes were upon him, her carmine lips
twisted in an oblique smile. Obviously some response
was expected of him.

He nodded down at the beautiful reposed figure.
“When,” he said boldly, deliberately, “will the Sleep¬
ing Goddess awaken?”

Quick surprise flooded her face to be instantly
masked by an expressionless stare. “I would not pre¬
sume to know,” she replied. “That is for my Lord to
decide!” And she bowed extravagantly to Miles.

He cursed under his breath. Every verbal tilt so
far had gone to this sleek dark beauty at his side. It
seemed nothing could escape the flashing intuitive
stare of those eyes—and that sinister something in
their depths was growing. Soon, very soon, perhaps,
a crisis would be reached and something told him it

THE SLEEPING GODDESS

49

would not be pleasant.

Jerry let his eyes feast once again on the beauty of
the golden-haired girl beneath the transparent lid.
Here certainly was the crux of the whole baffling ad¬
venture, the key that would explain, that would fit
each mystery into a completed whole with kaleido¬
scopic precision. But, and Miles felt a tug of hope¬
lessness, it required at least rudimentary knowledge to
use the key. He lacked even that!

Neena was near at hand, her honeyed tones soft.
“Always has the Sleeping Goddess rested here. And
once, when Iroq was young she awoke, came among
our people and blessed them. But that was long ages
ago, Lord Zendfap, and then one morning she had re¬
turned to her bed of sleep.” A faint malicious glitter
appeared in the jet eyes. “She awaits only your touch
to rise again!”

Jerry hid a sudden quickening of interest. Neena’s
words were probably barbaric legend, yet it tied in
with a growing suspicion of his. Those levers and
dials within the golden casket were not mere decora¬
tions. Vital scientific reason must be behind it all.
But he could not investigate with the cold eyes of
Neena watching him.

He wheeled abruptly, faced the woman squarely.

“Priestess,” he said, “I will awaken the Sleeping
Goddess so that she may walk once again among the
people of Iroq. But the time has not yet come. Right
now I tire, and would taste of your earthly food.”

The ebon head bowed in assent, and Jerry could not
see her face as she answered: “Your desire is my
command.”

She turned with him and glided lithely across the
black crystal floor toward the stairs. Her slim yellow-
cased figure was close to Miles, the Stygian torrents
of her hair tumbling about her shoulders, the perilous
mystery of her enveloping him like the heady fra¬
grance of perfume. Worlds different she was, from
that still golden-crowned beauty back there.

■p\USK was in the thick atmosphere when Neena and
Jerry emerged from the white temple. Three
grotesque metal robots stood stiffly in their former
positions, and further beyond at a respectful distance
from the tower waited the stocky people of Iroq.

The woman waved a slim bronzed arm at the can¬
opied seat. “Come; my servants will carry us to the
Palace.”

She was beside him in the litter then, and a spoken
word to the automaton brought it to life. Its jointed
metal legs moved and it clumped rapidly into the
street, the throng making way for it. As before, the
robot retinue escorted them.

Darkness was settling fast within the hazy confines
of the great wall, seemingly to pour in like ink into a
tumbler of water. But the stomping robots did not
slacken their stride; some uncanny sense seemed to
guide them unerringly. The swaying of the seat threw
Neena close against him. His heart leaped. Her ex¬
otic oval face shown palely through the darkness,

turned up to his.

“The best of Iroq is yours,” she whispered. “May
your stay at the Palace be pleasing; you are my guest,
I High Priestess of Iroq!”

Swiftly the ruddy machine carried the swaying lit¬
ter along a paved path between alternate banks of
vegetation. Miles glanced about him in silent confu¬
sion. The coming of evening had only increased the
unreality, the dream-like quality of everything. He
turned almost desperately to gaze at the girl beside
him in the chair. Her face was calm, undisturbed,
eyes looking ahead at a squat building looming direct¬
ly before them.

At a command from Neena the robots had slowed
their pace, then they were clattering through a pas¬
sage illuminated ineffectually by occasional smoking
torches. Another word from the girl halted the ma¬
chines beside stone steps leading upward. A short
hallway was on the second floor, and Neena drew him
toward a large bronze door. It swung open at her
touch, revealing a wide square room.

Standing within the doorway were four men.
Stocky, powerful, dark as were all the men of Iroq.
The very similarity of three, cast them as nondescript
individuals. Plainly attired they were, in livid-red
robes and sandals. Their dark features were thick,
coarse, reflecting brute dullness.

The fourth man differed only in his clothes and the
stamp of his face. A silken purple garment was draped
imperiously over his broad shoulders, and beneath it
flared loose trousers of the same hue. Sullen harsh¬
ness was visible on his swarthy face, reflected in the
thick hawk-nose, the twist of the wide lips. And a
brutish sense of power was there, too, lurking in the
crafty depths of his eyes. Here was a force in the
destinies of Iroq.

He bowed low, and the three red-robes beside him
followed suit.

Neena’s throaty voice sounded: “This is Borko, my
Chief Administrator, and his deputies.”

The man stepped back from the doorway, flung
out his arm in gesture. “This is your dwelling place,
Lord Zendfap,” he said in a thick voice. “Never has
it been occupied; endlessly have we kept the torches
burning in hope that some day you would come . . .
we are honored, and pleased!”

But as Miles entered the room, Neena’s arm in his,
he saw that Borko was far from pleased. Jealous
hatred blazed in the man’s eyes.

Revealed in the flaring light of cressets, the cham¬
ber was barbarously resplendent with furnishings and
trappings. Pelt rugs littered the floor, strange skins
that Jerry could not classify. Blue and orange fresco
work decorated the walls, and at one side was a waist-
high block of stone, the top hollowed to form a basin.
Flanking it were two huge urns of water.

Neena gave a graceful bow of her head, excused
herself, and walked to the door. She turned then,
looked back at Miles. Like a pale-bronze medallion
she stood, the flaring light playing over the yellow

50

FANTASTIC ADVENTURES

of her gown. And in the mirroring pools of her eyes
was a mocking challenge, an enigmatic promise of
caprice that sent Jerry’s blood thumping through his
veins.

Then she was gone.

T)UT that glance had not escaped the beady eyes of
^ Borko. Ill-concealed rage flooded his hawk-
nosed face, and Miles knew that here was an implac-
cable enemy, one that would cause trouble sooner or
later.

A moment he stood in front of Jerry, eyeing him
boldly.

“The clothes of Lord Zendfap are strange,” he
growled. “I have always thought they would be
robes of the priesthood . . .”

“Indeed?” snapped Miles. “Are you one to judge?”

A shadow of fear passed over the swarthy face.
“Your pardon, Lord Zendfap,” he murmured. Then,
hurriedly: “I will have food served.”

Deliberately Jerry turned his back upon the four
men, strode across the room to a huge window—and
he could almost feel the hate-filled eyes of Borko
piercing his back. Somehow the Chief Administrator
had guessed that he was not a divinity!

Sound of the opening door behind him wheeled
Miles about. Five servants were entering the room,
bearing silver platters crowded with food. Silently
they placed the trays upon short cradling tripods near
a banked pile of cushions. Then, at a gesture from
Borko they retired.

“Food, Lord Zendfap,” said the purple-garbed Ad¬
ministrator with a humbleness that did not deceive
Jerry.

When Miles had seated himself cross legged upon a
pillow before one of the trays, the four officials took
positions opposite him. He did full justice to the
meal. There were odd-flavored cooked vegetables,
a variety of strange fruit and nuts, and tender meat.

Borko’s eyes were on him, again growing insolently
belligerent in their scrutiny.

“Lord Zendfap finds earthly food pleasing?” He
leered mockingly.

Jerry caught the implication. He realized that
Borko, becoming ever more certain that he was not
immortal, would soon make trouble. The only way
to check such an occurrence was to overawe, bluff.

“It amuses me to taste your crude offerings,” he
retorted imperiously.

Brief anger flared in the obsidian eyes. “But you
do eat food like a common mortal,” growled Borko
boldly. “You look like a mortal . . .”

“Watch your tongue!” snapped Miles threaten¬
ingly. “Displease me, Administrator, and I may de¬
stroy you with thundering death!”

The three red-garbed deputies, Jerry could see,
were afraid. The swarthiness of their faces had
changed to an apprehensive white. But Borko was
unconvinced, had lost all caution.

“Your words are mighty,” he grunted. “But words

are useless; what proof have you that you are in truth
Lord Zendfap?”

“Proof that will crush you if you anger me fur-i
ther! ” growled Jerry. He jerked out his pistol, leveled
it quickly at one of the water urns across the room.
Three shots crashing on the heels of one another
smashed the earthenware crock to pieces. Water
splattered on the floor.

The three deputies reached the door in a single
concerted rush, struggled through, hoarse wails of
fear on their lips. Borko retained his position with
obvious difficulty. His mouth was open, his thick
harsh features distorted with baffled surprise.

Quickly he bowed his head to Miles, mumbled an
apology.

Jerry pointed at the door. “Go!” he thundered,
“before I lose patience!”

Borko obeyed with alacrity.

And Miles, watching the powerful purple-clothed
figure leave, knew that the man had not been con¬
vinced one iota of his divinity.

CHAPTER IV
Puppets of Evolution

T ERRY did not wait for further developments. Now,
J if ever, was the time to visit the white temple and
the golden Sleeping Goddess. Key to the whole mys¬
tery was there; all he had to do was find it. In any
event, a secret foray could do no harm.

He crossed to the rectangle window, crawled over
the wide sill, and let himself down by his arms. He
dropped lightly upon the roof of the first story, then
repeated the performance from the roof, landed on
thick carpeting moss. All was quiet in the dusk
shrouded courtyard.

Obviously there were no guards about, nor was
there need for them. Jerry strode freely along curv¬
ing paths among the banked foliage until he came
to the low arching gate. He halted momentarily,
peered into the darkened street. It was deserted.
Even if he did chance upon someone he would attract
no untoward attention in the darkness.

He made the trip to the Temple of the Gods quickly
and uneventfully. Its slender white tower shimmered
faintly in the moonlight, guiding him like a beacon.

Quickly he mounted the graceful curving staircase
to the silent splendor of the rotunda above. As he
strode to the golden coffin he was startled to see light
flooding from the interior through the transparent lid.

Jerry leaned forward. The illumination, he saw,
came from a cleverly concealed indirect lighting tube
circling the coffin where the lid and plush-lined inte¬
rior met. And the warm glow played over the still
form of the Sleeping Goddess.

Her pale beauty seemed scarcely earthly now, with
the light rippling on the golden cascades of her hair,
etching in faint strokes of shadow the long lashes and
the closed lids. Full sensitive mouth was deep pink.

THE SLEEPING GODDESS

51

Here was a vibrant loveliness strangely piquant. But
as she lay there Miles wondered if indeed she had
ever risen from the “sleep.”

He looked again at the levers and dials on the
casket wall. They were well within reach of the
girl’s hand. But there seemed no way of discovering
their purpose; there were no duplicating levers on
the outside. . . . Sudden inspiration made him exam¬
ine the thick carvings on the coffin’s exterior directly
opposite the inside levers Almost immediately he
perceived a fine circle in the gold; like the flush end
of a small shaft, it appeared. And in this circle was a
shallow square hole plainly at variance to the sweep¬
ing curves of the other engravings. It seemed to him
that a lever was meant to fit in that hole.

Jerry substituted the handle of his bowie knife,
forcing the squared end into the hole. Then he twisted
upon the blade.

His heart thumped. The circle was turning slowly!
He bent low over the coffin, saw that a single inside
lever was also moving; it then, was connected to the
golden shaft he was twisting. Abruptly sounded the
click of a moving tumbler. The shaft would budge no
further. Soft whirring of hidden machinery issued
from somewhere beneath the coffin, the hiss of gas
under pressure. And then Miles jerked erect with a
low gasp on his lips.

The curving transparent lid of the casket was
swinging silently back!

A PUNGENT odor wafted outward and the girl lay
exposed to reach. Breathlessly he looked close.
Faint flushing pink was flowing through her ivory
cheeks, and a rhythmic pulsation of her breast began.
Then a flutter jerked the blond lashes, they lifted.
Deep brown eyes stared uncomprehendingly upward.
Quickly calm intelligence came to those eyes, and the
Sleeping Goddess sat up in the silken trough of the
coffin—a miniature on ivory come to life; delicate
features, gown sheer white, sleeveless, high-waisted
and pleated.

A moment she absorbed the lean height of Jerry
with speculative brown eyes. Queer hope came into
them, and she smiled up.

“You are from the city of Nu-Der?” Her tones
were liquid, the words oddly inflected, more of a
classic form even than those of Neena.

Pulsing excitement made Jerry’s voice disturbingly
thick. “I’ve never heard of—Nu-Der.”

The woman’s face registered vague disappointment.
“Then you live here in Iroq?”

“Hardly.” Miles gave a short laugh. “I’ve been
here only since this afternoon. Because I came from
—outside, the people think I’m a god!”

Quick interest lit the brown eyes and the girl leaned
forward eagerly. Her hair rippled in a golden cascade
about slim shoulders.

“You are from beyond the Wall then! You have
seen the shining city nestled in the far mountains?”

Jerry shook his head. “There is no city there.”

The girl bowed her golden head and her voice came
tonelessly: “It is as I suspected; Nu-Der is no more.”

Miles struggled to keep growing wonder in hand.
“Why do you speak of this city, Nu-Der? What is
the purpose of the wall around Iroq, and why have
you slept for ages in this white tower?”

The tawny eyes were studying Jerry’s bronzed
square face. Then abruptly she became conscious of
the man’s own intent stare. She flushed. “You speak
my tongue oddly. Your land is far away?”

He nodded, gestured vaguely with his arm. “On
the other side of the world across wide oceans.”

“And you have great men of learning, of science?”

“Many,” responded Miles.

“Then you will understand what I have to say,”
she explained. “Once I lived in Nu-Der. Never in
all the world was there such a city. A city of science.
Things to stun the mind with wonder; knowledge was
the gauge of a man’s wealth.

“But the mystery of life still escaped the masters.
And so they built this great transparent cup, filled
it with a thick atmosphere that would speed up evolu¬
tion enormously. All the materials and constituents
of life were placed in it. But no spore or germ was
allowed to enter. Life would come of its own accord
and they would watch it grow and evolve, and perhaps
learn its immemorial secret.

“But they knew that even with the speeding effect
of the gas many years would pass before life would
appear; that civilizations might rise and fall.”

Miles nodded eagerly. “Go on.”

“So the scientists built this tower. I was chosen
to dwell within it, travel down through the ages by
suspended animation; gas within this golden box
achieves that. Every five thousand years it would
automatically open, return me to life so that I might
check the progress of evolution within the wall, and
carry that knowledge to some future race—and so it
has been.

“Every five thousand years I have awakened and
made brief studies of a few weeks, returning once
again to my bed of sleep. I have seen the first
wrigglings of life, have watched it grow into the weird
forests yonder. I have studied humans on the long
ladder of evolution, have seen them form the primi¬
tive empire of Iroq here within the wall.

“And during all these millenniums my shining city
of Nu-Der has come with me, larger, more wondrous
each time I beheld it. But alas, on my last awaken¬
ing no scientists were here to greet me. I could not
travel on foot across the burning desert to Nu-Der,
and so I went to sleep again fearful that I was now
fulfilling the duty for which I had been placed here
—that my great civilization had crumbled somehow,
to nothingness.

“You, man of the future, have confirmed that be¬
lief.” The golden head bowed in sorrow.

AyTILES shifted his feet. The sheer immensity of
her story whetted his wonder, yet even stronger

52

FANTASTIC ADVENTURES

than this curiosity was a desire to take the girl in his
arms and comfort her. The loss of her city, her very
people must have created a gnawing void within her.
But all he could manage in way of consolation was a
soft: “All things must end sometime.”

The brown eyes lifted to his and they cleared
bravely. “You are right. Regret is useless.” Her
delicate rose lips parted in a faint smile. “I am called
Orleen, and you. . . . ?”

“Jerry Miles.”

“Jerry Miles,” she repeated, her mellow voice im¬
parting a liquid inflection to the syllables. “It is a
pleasing name—and Jerry, the dials show that I have
slept only four thousand years this time. Is it-”

“I woke you,” he put in hastily. “When I saw you
resting there so calm and lifelike, so beautiful I
couldn’t believe you dead. . . .” He clipped off his
words, confused at their ardent rush.

A pleased flush colored Orleen’s cheeks and her
laugh was like the musical clatter of silver coins. “I
do not mind. I had thought perhaps the natives of
Iroq had discovered the means of opening my casket.”

Miles frowned with sudden remembrance. “No.
I don’t understand it either. Their priestess has mar¬
velous robots, yet no one seems to recognize those
levers as being controls of some kind.”

Again the woman’s silver laugh sounded. “I gave
those robots to the savages of Iroq four thousand
years ago. I taught them my language, hoped the
machines would hasten their march toward civiliza¬
tion. Apparently it was a useless gesture.”

For a moment there was silence in the ornate ro¬
tunda while Miles tried to orient his rushing thoughts.
The jig-saw mystery was piecing together bit by bit.
This girl from the immemorial past sitting gracefully
there like a golden goddess had truly been the key¬
stone to the whole baffling structure. Incredible tale
it was!

Abruptly as Miles stood in the clear light by the
gilded casket he became aware of footsteps ascending
on the stairway from below. Baseless surging panic
gripped him.

He spun to Orleen. “Quick!” he whispered urg¬
ently. “Someone’s coming. They mustn’t find you
awake! ”

The girl’s eyes widened with dread. She clutched
at his arm. “You will not desert me, Jerry? You
will wake me again?”

“I swear it! As soon as I’m able. Hurry, close the
lid!”

She gave his arm a trusting squeeze, then dropped
back among the silken plush of the casket. Her hand
flicked over a tiny silver lever and the transparent lid
swung silently into place. She looked up at Jerry, a
tremulous smile about her lips. Then a second lever
slid back beneath her hand. Somewhere within
sounded the muffled escape of gas. Her eyelids flut¬
tered, closed, and once again Orleen was the Sleeping
Goddess of Iroq.

A footstep sounded behind Miles. He wheeled to
look into the faintly smiling face of Neena. Taunting
mockery shone boldly in her black eyes.

“Does Lord Zendfap find his quarters at the Pal¬
ace so unsuited that he seeks shelter in the Temple?
Or is it the beauty of the Sleeping Goddess that draws
him?”

Dull anger surged within him. “Since when,” he
demanded incisively, “must a Lord account to you,
Priestess?”

The expression on the exotic oval face did not alter.
But she said humbly, “I beg your forgiveness,” and
gave a quick bow of her head. Then she turned.
“Come. My metal servants wait to take us to the
Palace.”

CHAPTER V
Neena’s Offer

J^EXT morning when Miles woke among the piled
blankets and pillows of the big stone room he
made an immediate and chilling discovery. As he
buckled on his cartridge belt and holster, he saw
that his pistol was missing. A quick search assured
him that it had not fallen among the cushions.

Anger and apprehension flared within him. Only
two people, of course, would have the audacity or the
reason to steal his gun while he slept: Neena and
Administrator Borko.

The High Priestess might have doubted his godly
eminence, was perhaps planning to someway capital¬
ize on his appearance in Iroq, had taken his gun
to assure her success.

Or Borko, fired by jealous hatred and belief that
he, Miles, was not Zendfap, might have pilfered it.

In any event, Jerry knew that the weapon was ir¬
revocably lost to him. The fact that its loss fore¬
told danger did not add to his peace of mind.

Three red-jacketed men brought his breakfast. But
when he sought to question them concerning the ac¬
tivities of Neena and Borko, they professed ignorance,
withdrew hurriedly.

It was not until noon that Neena, accompanied by
Borko, came to call upon him. The Priestess’ slender
pale-bronze figure was clothed in livid green, her ebon
hair falling on the shoulders of a milky-white jacket.
Dark oblique eyebrows and crimson lips gave exotic
mystery to her face.

She extended a slim arm to Miles. “Lord Zend¬
fap,” she said, “we wish to show you more of the
land of Iroq. My metal servants await us. . . .”

Borko’s swarthly hawk-nosed face was carefully de¬
void of expression. He bowed low in greeting, saluted
Miles as Lord Zendfap. Over his shoulders was the
same purple chamys, voluminous enough, Jerry real¬
ized, to conceal a sword—or a pistol. But Miles de¬
termined not to mention the theft; it would do no
good, would only be an admission of his concern.

THE SLEEPING GODDESS

53

In the Palace’s lower passageway the three robots
stood like bulbous red spiders. Now both the first
and second machines were provided with litters.
Neena seated herself next to Miles; Borko took his
position in the second automaton. At a call the stiff
metal legs jerked into motion.

T TPON noticing a movement in the underbrush,
Neena let out a sharp command. The third
robot darted forward. A pig-like six-legged ani¬
mal scurried swiftly from under the pulpy leaves,
but not swiftly enough. A flash of ruddy metal legs
and in a trice the unfortunate beast was snapped off
the ground in the grip of a coiling tentacle. It
screamed horribly and its brown eyes bulged in death
as the metal tentacle contracted .

Sickening disgust filled Jerry, most of it directed
.at the woman at his side. She was intently leaning
forward, breast heaving with excitement. Borko, in
the second robot, was leering appreciatively.

“Sport of the Gods!” cried Neena. “Nothing
escapes my metal servants; they can scent and trail
quarry to the ends of Iroq!”

Miles reclined far back in the swaying seat,
thoughtfully silent. What was the point of this dem¬
onstration? A subtle warning calculated to impress
him with their power? If so, it could not have orig¬
inated on Borko’s part, for he was plainly not a man
of subtleties.

Dusk was near when the tour was completed and
the robots finally directed back towards the village
and the Palace. But Jerry’s thoughts were of the
gleaming white tower, and the golden-haired goddess
immured there. The appeal in her voice for his
return still lingered with him. He couldn’t let her
down; somehow he’d fulfill that hurried promise to
awaken her once again.

When they reached the Palace, Neena conducted
him to a room on the ground floor. Borko entered
also, but the priestess turned quickly to him.

“You may leave, Administrator,” she said calmly.

Instantly jealous anger flared on his harsh features,
and a snarling protest rose to his lips.

She cut him short. “Go!”

A moment he stood, then bowed stiffly in assent.
But as he turned away he shot a glance at Miles
from eyes snapping with hatred.

r "pHE room was small. Colored, finely-woven reed
-*■ mats covered the stone floor, the walls ornate with
flowing tapestries. At one side was a circular green-
tiled bathing pool, on the other a large window giving
into the dusk shadowed court. Smoke from the flick¬
ering cressets seemed incensed. The room, Jerry real¬
ized with vague discomfort, was typically feminine.

Neena was quick to see his wondering glance.
“This is my chamber. I wish you to dine with
me. . . .”

A soft tumbled mass of pillows was piled against
the nearer wall and she drew him toward it, pulled

him down with a slim bare arm. He seated himself
Turkish-fashion on a cushion, sat awkwardly erect.
He sensed that planned events were working into
shape; that he must be on guard.

From her supine position of the pillows, Neena
clapped her hands. Six trailing servants entered bear¬
ing food. They were short men, wearing the same
style red tunics and white short-cut pantaloons Miles
had seen before. The Priestess waved them away
after they had deposited the trays on a cluster of
tripods.

Jerry ate sparingly, aware that Neena only dabbed
at her food. The inscrutable dark eyes rose often
to his, and he was conscious that the meal was only
the prelude of things to come. He nodded his head at
the food.

“The people of Iroq live well, Priestess,” he re¬
marked, trying to ease an awkward situation.

“Only because the Gods are generous,” she retorted
silkily. “You are pleased with us, Lord Zendfap?”

He hid his wonderment. “I find no fault.”

“Then you have chosen your wedding day?”

Inwardly Miles jumped. The blow had fallen from
an unexpected quarter. He was aware that the woman
had moved closer to him on the pillow, was regarding
him from beneath lowered lashes. The best he could
do was counter boldly.

“Why all this interest in the marriage, Priestess?
What are days compared to ages of waiting? I see
no reason for its immediate fulfillment.”

Abruptly, as he half reclined on the cushions, he
felt the vibrant warm nearness of Neena’s body
against his, caught the thick intoxicating perfume of
her jet hair.

“Perhaps,” she said, her voice a throaty whisper,
“the bride grows impatient!”

The truth burst upon him in a single illuminating
flood. And that flood was instantly absorbed in a
maelstrom of emotion; for Neena’s slim bronze arms
had slid about his neck, soft yet strong as they pulled
him toward the exotic upturned oval of her face. Alien
depths of her eyes were aglitter with exultation.

Abrupt panic seized him. He tore loose, pushed
her back upon the cushions.

“You are Priestess of Iroq,” he growled at her
severely. “And you are mortal. A mortal can not
mate a god! ”

Neena had drawn angrily erect, breast heaving.
Then strangely she relaxed; a smile parted the full
red lips.

“You speak truly,” came her voice with perilous
sweetness. “A mortal may not wed with immortal—
but you are not Zendfap! You are not a god!”

J ERRY felt a sudden weak deflatedness. Her words
had stabbed like a knife ripping a bladder.

“I suspected from the first,” she said triumphantly.
“You knew too little of the ways of Iroq. And then
last night in the Temple my beliefs were con¬
firmed . . .”

54

FANTASTIC ADVENTURES

A gasp wrenched from his lips. “You heard Orleen “My people need never know you are not Zendfap;
and me?” they are content, not unduly curious. No one would

“Truly. I followed you to the Temple, heard every see wrong in our marriage!”
word between you. You are not a god—neither is “A certain Administrator would hardly be pleased,”
the Sleeper!” Jerry pointed out.

Setting his jaw, Miles faced her defiantly. “So “He can be—removed!”
what?” he gritted. “I’m sorry, Neena; your offer doesn’t appeal to

Faint mockery shone in her eyes and she shrugged me.”
delicately molded shoulders. “I do not care. In Angrily the ebon head tossed. “You spurn a throne
truth it has allowed me to make certain plans—” of the gods? A kingdom to do with as you choose?

“Then you took my gun?” interrupted Jerry im- Wealth! Power! The whole of Iroq to do your bid-
pulsively. ding?”

“Gun?” Neena’s voice was querulous. “What is “Oh, it isn’t that—”
gun?” “What more could one desire?” she demanded with

“My thundering weapon.” fierce intensity. “Am I ugly? Do you find me so

She dismissed the matter with a petulant shake of repulsive you dread the thought of sharing my
her head. “I know nothing of your weapon.” throne?”

And strangely, Miles knew that she had spoken “No one can deny your beauty, Neena—”
truthfully. It was Borko . . . “Then what displeases you?” she murmured, slip-

Again the Priestess was speaking ping close to him again. “I have not seen your like

before. The men of Iroq are thick and short and
ugly. You are tall, slim, your hair is the color of
yellow moss . . .”

Again slim arms stole about his neck, and the warm
nearness of her whirled in his brain. The flushed
pale-bronze of her face was upturned, eyes black
pools, full reddened lips close . . . abruptly he threw
his arm around her lithe body, crushed his lips against
hers.

When he lifted his head he was trembling a bit,
and a guilty stab went through him as he thought of
that fair sleeping girl in the Temple. Somehow that
kiss seemed like a betrayal.

“What of Orleen?” he asked huskily.

Neena’s voice was close, mellow. “She shall con¬
tinue to be—the Sleeping Goddess! ”

The heady appeal of Nee-
A The stiff legs of na vanished; he tore her
! ^, e f u J oma+on arms roughly away, sprang

W his fee.

FEATURES contorted,
Neena leaped up. A small
hand was digging in the lin¬
ing of her jacket. Jerry
stumbled backward in time
to avoid the thrust of a slim
ivory stiletto. He clutched
her wrist, upsetting the silver
trays as he wrenched it from
her hand. He hurled the
carved white weapon across
the room where it shattered
against the stone wall of the

With a choking cry of
utter fury she hurled herself
at him, slashing, clawing,
biting. It was like holding

THE SLEEPING GODDESS

55

an enraged tigress in his arms, and for a few seconds
he struggled desperately to grasp those raking talons.
But she fought with furious demoniac energy.

Miles realized forcibly that he had incurred in her
a hatred that would be appeased only in his death.
He lunged out with both hands, hurled her bodily
backward onto the pile of cushions. A moment she
lay there eyes blazing, face contorted. “Fool!” she
shrieked. “M—”

Abruptly, in the midst of that blurred moment, a
pistol shot crashed into the room. A bullet whined
past Jerry’s head.

Framed in the blackness of the open doorway was
the stocky bull-form of Borko holding Miles’ auto¬
matic in a lax hand. Surprised incredulity flooded
his hawk-nosed face; for Miles had not broken like
the urn when the weapon was turned on it . . .

Deliberately Jerry strode toward the Administrator.
“No use, Borko,” he growled. “The thundering
weapon works only for me! ”

Fear twisted the thick swarthy features, and Borko
wheeled, plunged from view.

Neena’s voice knifed out in call behind Jerry. And
somewhere down the passageway beyond the door
sounded a responsive mechanical thumping of metal
feet. The robots!

That heavy reverberation woke blind surging terror
within him; only too fresh in his mind was the dem¬
onstration he had witnessed. He wheeled, spurted
across the brilliant reed mats, and as he scrambled
over the thick window sill into the courtyard, Neena’s
hate-filled orders for pursuit reached his ears.

CHAPTER VI

Flight of the Gods

J ERRY did not pause an instant, but lunged through
the darkness among the weird vegetation of the
court. A pulsing thought lent wings to his feet. Neena
had called hunting with the robots “sport of the
Gods!”

The moon was overhead, and everything glowed
in a strange blue illumination. Clearly visible ahead
was the white tower, and he made for it. There was
double reason why he should go there, for he knew
now that Orleen would not be safe from Neena’s ven¬
geance. The Priestess herself would guess his intent,
and the dash to the Temple would resolve into a
mad race, with chances about equal. Miles with a
head start, Neena with the greater speed of the robots.

Fortunately the distance was not great, and Jerry
covered it at top speed, dashing past startled natives
in the moonlit dusk. At any moment he expected the
mechanical thud of metal feet behind him. The white
structure loomed above, and he was plunging across
the low porch and into the blackness of the splendid
corridor. Up the gentle sweep of the stairs to the
ebon floor of the cupola. The beacon-like flare of
the Sleeper’s casket shone through the gloom.

Pale and beautiful she was, in the warm glow of the
light-tube, and for a moment that loveliness held him.
Then again he was twisting his bowie knife in the
square depression of the golden box—with hasty as¬
surance this time, for somewhere outside in the street
came the clatter of multiple metal feet!

The curving transparent lid slid back as before,
and renewed life was flowing through the slim figure
within. Brown eyes opened to stare into Miles’. In
that look was instant understanding. Orleen smiled.

“I knew you would return, Jerry!” came silvery
tones. Sudden concern crossed her face; she sat up
swiftly. “You’re troubled. Something has hap¬
pened?”

“Much!” he replied urgently. “Quick, Orleen,
we’ve got to get out of here. We’re in danger, both
of us!”

Puzzled alarm showed on her white brow. “I don’t
understand . . .”

“No time to explain; they’re right on my heels,
three robots. Hurry!”

In the passageway below sounded harsh staccato
of metal on stone. Neena was bringing the robots into
the tower!

Jerry scooped up the white-draped form of Orleen
from the casket. He placed her quickly on her feet,
conscious as he did so, of her supple grace. But even
as he led her toward the stairs, sound from the black¬
ness beneath told him the robots were mounting the
steps.

He set his jaw. “We’re caught,” he grated. “Too
far to jump from the window, no use to hide, and I
can’t fight three robots with a dagger!”

CURPRISINGLY, Orleen was tugging on his arm,
her voice an urgent whisper. “I have a way! The
people of Iroq do not know this tower as well as they
might.”

She drew him toward the dusky curve that was
the rotunda’s wall. As her hand ran for a moment
over the figured medallion work, the clatter on the
stairway drew near. Then something clicked beneath
her touch, and a panel opened, faint radiance showing.
Together they ducked in; the door slid silently into
place, cutting off outside sound.

It was an oblong little room they were in, pale
illumination coming from the walls and ceiling. Cyl¬
indrical metal containers were piled in neat array.

“My secret store room,” explained Orleen with a
little gesture. “Food is here for use during my wak¬
ing periods.”

“Can you leave the tower from here?” demanded
Jerry eagerly.

The golden head nodded. “Come . . .”

At her touch an opening appeared in the floor; a
tiny spiraling stairway leading downward She led
the way, Miles thumping at her heels. A minute later
Orleen halted.

“Sh-h . . .”

A rectangle opened, and the golden girl peered

56

FANTASTIC ADVENTURES

forth. Then her hand found Jerry’s, guided him out.
They were in one of the dusk filled curving colon¬
nades of the Temple.

“Come on,” whispered Jerry, “we’ve got to reach
the wall before those mechanical bloodhounds get
wind of us! ”

Silently they slipped through the ghostly gleaming
splendor of the arcade, out of the tower and into the
deserted streets of Iroq.

Lightly Orleen, daughter of a long forgotten people,
ran at his side. No fear disturbed the pale beauty
of her features; only calm trust. Indeed, thought
Miles, she did not yet know the true gravity of the
situation, and he could not bring himself to tell her
of Neena’s bloody thirst for revenge; that thirst would
certainly put the Priestess on their trail again. It
was, in fact, a desperate dash for their lives.

Soon the village was behind, the weird masses of
the jungle about them. Miles slowed their pace to a
trot; balloon-plants dotted the landscape, and there
was danger of stumbling into the cruel projecting
thorn-pikes. Then too, they’d have to conserve their
strength; a final dash might well be the difference
between life and death.

Still there was no sign of pursuit.

Evidently Neena still believed they were hid some¬
where in the Temple. They reached the crest of a
green-carpeted hillock, and Jerry stopped to look
back.

They went on again, Orleen silent but uncomplain¬
ing at his side. Dull elation was mounting within
Jerry. They were half way to the wall.

“Jerry!” gasped Orleen suddenly, tugged him to a
halt. Her attitude was of intent listening. Miles
turned, cocked his head.

Somewhere in the distance behind them, through
the thick blue atmosphere, came the rich voice of
Neena lifted in call. And as the blood drained from
Jerry’s face, a faint thud thud thud of pounding metal
feet became audible.

■JV/TILES and the golden-haired girl sprang into the
^ A wild flight of panic. That stomping sound, hor¬
ribly threatening in its mechanical rhythm, lent
strength to their flagging muscles. They ran over the
undulant terrain between the thick bubble-capped
vegetation. And now the vivid green moss underfoot
seemed to clutch at them with greedy malicious
fingers.

Orleen stumbled, would have fallen had not. Miles
caught her. As he held her, the futility of that blind
flight struck him. Only half the distance to the wall,
and the robots close behind; to win such a race was
a stark impossibility.

“No use, Orleen,” he gasped. “We’ll never make
it.” He cast a desperate glance about, rested his eye
on the pulpy, heavy growths, looked hopelessly at the
faintly gleaming bubbles, the huge balloon-plants tug¬
ging at brown cable-stalks . . .

The girl was close to him. “We can’t hide,” she

pointed out. “The robots will scent us.”

Jerry’s eyes gleamed with frantic speculation as
they caught upon the balloon-plants.

“No,” he grated, “we can’t hide—but we won’t
have to. Come on!”

Somewhere in the jungle, thumping metal feet were
drawing near with unfailing sureness. Jerry hurried
the girl toward the nearest balloon-plant. Her eyes
were wide with wonder as he made an opening in the
plant’s thorn barrier by pulling sideway on the radi¬
ating shafts. He gestured with his head at the
growth’s stem.

“Climb it. Quick!”

Orleen looked helplessly at the tawny stalk stretch¬
ing stiffly upward like a huge rope hanging from a
balloon.

“But I . . . how . . .?”

“Climb it, woman! Your life depends on getting
up there!”

Orleen smiled tremulously at him, stepped quickly
between the long spear-thorns and began a struggling
ascent of the plant’s stalk.

Jerry groaned inwardly. Valiant little thorough¬
bred that she was, she was nevertheless barely inch¬
ing up the cable—much too slow!

Abruptly he wheeled. Coming around a near clump
of vegetation were two of the red robots, the sur¬
mounting globes of their bodies catching the moon¬
light in cold flashes. Behind followed a third, carry¬
ing the familiar canopied litter. From it sounded
Neena’s shout, suddenly exultant. She had seen the
fugitives.

But the robots did not spring ruthlessly upon Miles,
rather they took positions behind the balloon-plant
to prevent his escape. And Jerry saw the reason.
The squat form of Borko was hunched forward in the
seat beside Neena, a huge sword across his knees!

CHAPTER VII
Balloons of Chance

lYTILES gritted his teeth. Whacked to pieces with-
1 out a chance to fight back, eh? Not while he
had a brain and two arms! He whipped out his hunt¬
ing knife, began whittling furiously at the base of one
of the spear-thorns; its tough fourfoot length would
make an ideal rapier.

The robot had halted with its passengers a short
distance away, and Borko, like a grim diabolical
gnome in his purple cape, stepped forth. Neena said
nothing, did not move; a cruel statue of exotic beauty.

Desperately Jerry cut at the hard stem. Borko
stalked forward confidently, huge sword upon his
thick shoulder, gloating satisfaction showing in the
harsh lines of his face. He chuckled deeply.

“Your roaring weapon kills only for you,” he called.
“Aye, but I have something that kills for me! ”

Brandishing the great sword in both hands, the
stocky Administrator bounded forward. Miles

THE SLEEPING GODDESS

57

slashed through the pike just in time to meet the rush.
Borko swung his weapon ax fashion, its blade de¬
scending in a hissing arc. Jerry, still on his knees,
got in a short jabbing thrust of his improvised spear.
It struck nothing; but Borko’s own swing was di¬
verted, and the very violence of that effort nearly
impaled him on the balloon-plant’s outward project¬
ing spikes.

The dark man gave ground, and Miles sprang to
his feet. Borko charged again this time his hewing
blade directed at the menace of his opponent’s spear.
The blow was a glancing one, yet there was such force
in it that Jerry’s lance was almost ripped from his
hands. He recovered on the instant, gave a des¬
perate jab of the spear.

Fatigued as Miles was from his recent flight, there
was neither accuracy or power behind that thrust.
Nevertheless it caught Borko in the left shoulder.

With a roar of pained rage the man leaped back¬
ward, pressed a hand to his shoulder. And that
hand came away red with blood. Sudden fear was
reflected on the dark face. Miles sought to follow
his advantage with a quick jab, and in doing so, found
that Borko’s wound had not impaired the efficiency
of his muscular arm. For he met a blow from the
huge sword that whistled within an inch of his face.

But the purple-garbed man’s confidence had van¬
ished, Miles could sense; he was fighting now with
desperation. And slowly Jerry beat him around until
his back was almost touching the out-thrust spikes of
the balloon-plant’s stalk. Then abruptly Borko’s
flashing blade caught Jerry’s spear dead-center.
There was a snapping of fibers and the broken shaft
was wrenched from his hands, hurled away.

CTUNNED, Miles stood rooted to the ground, his
mind refusing to credit what his senses told him
was horrible truth.

Instantly Borko’s leering bravado flooded back.
“Now, infidel,” he shouted triumphantly, “you shall
see how my weapon kills! ” And like a baseball player
striking a ball, he swung the ponderous sword.

Had that blow landed it would have cleaved a man
in two. It grazed Jerry’s shoulder as he ducked. The
very power of that wasted effort twisted Borko’s body
half around, and thus for a moment an opening ap¬
peared.

Jerry leaped forward, swinging his fist from the
ground in a terrific blow. His knuckles crashed
squarely under the man’s chin. Borko’s stocky form
was literally hurled backward and a single death
shriek left his lips.

Two of the balloon-plant lances, bloody red, pro¬
truded through his chest.

“You are skillful with your fists!” said a throaty
mocking voice behind Jerry.

He whirled. Neena sprawled languorously in the
cushioned litter. Moonlight shone on the perilous
beauty of her face, the taunting curl of her painted lips.

“Skillful, yes,” continued the honeyed voice, “but I
wonder what your fists will avail you against my
robots?”

Miles made no effort to reply. He glanced up at
the floating plant overhead where the white form of
Orleen was laboriously inching her way upward.
Then he was parting the spear-thorns, was shinnying
up the cable-stalk after her.

An amused chuckle sounded from below. “Fools!
Do you think you are safe there? It will be pleasing
to watch you cling until you fall. Or if I grow im¬
patient my metal servants will pull the plant
down. . . .”

Jerry climbed swiftly until he was just beneath
Orleen. The huge green bag of the plant was a yard
above her. He looked down at Neena fifty feet below
and he could contain himself no longer. He laughed
grimly at her.

“Sorry to disappoint you, Priestess, but we’re not
staying here!”

And he jerked out his bowie knife, began to cut the
tawny anchoring cable beneath him. Instantly Neena
grasped his intention. She called to the robots, and
her voice was shrill with fury. They lurched forward,
one on each side of the plant, their coiling tentacles
whipped out, grasped the cable-stalk and began to pull
it down like men drawing in rope.

A little gasp sounded from Orleen as the floating
plant lunged precariously. With legs folded and
clamped around the stalk, and holding meantime with
one hand, Jerry sliced away at the tough stem stretch¬
ing beneath him. But a command from Neena
brought increased activity from the robots; their ap¬
pendages jerking down the pliant stalk like the furi¬
ously flailing arms of a steam engine.

He could see the Priestess standing intently, as mo¬
tionless as a bronze figurine, yet he sensed the flaming
hatred that burned within her. And directly below,
the franticly working tentacles of the robots drawing
nearer and nearer—arms that would crush and tear if
they chanced to come within reach.

Then abruptly Miles cut through the stalk. Up¬
ward surged the balloon-plant carrying its cargo ef¬
fortlessly; it had in truth become a balloon. Below,
the robots and the statuesque form of Iroq’s High
Priestess were dwindling dots that soon merged into
the mottled expanse of the moonlit jungle. In the
distance was a pale finger of white pointing silently
heavenward. . . .

Later, the man and woman stood upon the wall
looking down at the mistiness that was sleeping Iroq.
Orleen’s golden head was close to Miles’ shoulders,
and her voice was husky, eager.

“I—I’m glad, Jerry, that we had to leave this—test
tube! I’m tired of wandering through the centuries.
I want to live a normal woman’s life! ”

For answer Jerry Miles’ arm tightened about her
shoulders.

The End

Science records many fantastic science
hoaxes, perpetrated on the gullible public. We
present here one of the most famous deceptions.

TN 1835 the New York Sun perpetrated one of the most

famous hoaxes in history. However, in so doing, its in¬
tent was not a mischievous attempt to fool the public; it
was not intended to be a profit-making scheme, as are most
hoaxes. In fact, the Sun itself, actually enacted the role of
believer with millions of other guileless Americans.

On August 21 of that year, there appeared in the Sun a
short item quoting from the Edinburgh Courant, relating
very briefly that Sir John Herschel (a very well known
astronomer of that period) had just made certain remark¬
able astronomical discoveries by means of a new tremen¬
dous telescope, at his observatory in Cape Town, South
Africa. Since Herschel was noted for the advances he had
made in the construction of astronomical instruments, such
an announcement was not entirely implausible.

On Tuesday, August 25, began a series of seven feature
articles concerning these amazing discoveries written by
Richard Adams Locke, one of the leading reporters of the
day. The information in these articles was credited to the
Edinburgh Journal of Science. It may be readily seen that
these accounts of Herschel’s discoveries were false because
the Journal of Science suspended publication several years
previous to this time. But in the United States, nothing
was known of this publication, and since the telegraph and
undersea cable were unknown, there was no way of proving
the falsity of the story, even had it been doubted. The
public tacitly accepted the articles as truth.

Looke, the author, who conceived and executed the whole
affair entirely by himself, did a wonderfully convincing job.
In the first place he beguiled the public with all sorts of
technical terms. Then, being a good reporter, he could
write very convincingly, and refrained from exceeding the
bounds of the public’s credulity. Every point of the story
could have been true. To make his statements more believ¬
able, he accompanied them with drawings, supposedly made
in the observatory by Herschel himself.

The account began by relating the story of Herschel’s re¬
searches in optics and went on to describe how he had, after
many failures, come upon a formula for glass which would
make a lens of any desired strength.

The construction of the giant lens was given in great de¬
tail, and was quite correct, too, resulting in the stilling of
numerous unbelievers and scoffers. Then came an excellent
and extremely interesting description of the moon, its flora,
fauna and topographical details.

The moon was inhabited, Locke said, by all sorts of be¬
ings. There was abundant vegetation covering large por¬
tions of the satellite, animals were numerous, and while
many resembled earthly fauna, others had no earthly coun¬
terparts. But most interesting of all were the human-like
beings also detected by the Herschel telescope.

These creatures, male and female, as on earth, were pos¬
sessed of the advantage of being winged, their wings being
somewhat like those of bats. These wings were not covered
by hair or fur although the remainder of the bodies of both
sexes were clothed in fur. They wore no clothes and ap¬
peared to be simple and primitive in their customs and or¬
ganization. They lived in small groups and were not per¬
manently located even then, since members of one group
often wandered to others. It could not be determined
whether they had political, social or religious organization.

Their habitations were the only artificial things on the
moon, being crudely constructed huts of a bamboo-like ma-

The moon beings possessed the knowledge of fire, for
smoke was often seen pouring from holes in the roofs of the
huts. Weapons seemingly were unknown for none were ever
seen. Their food seemed to consist of the various fruits
which grew plentifully about them.

Life on the moon was simple and pleasant, and probably
happy as described by Locke. The various groups were at
peace with each other, there were no dangerous animals,
food was to be had without effort at all times, and thus,
these people spent most of their time lolling about, swim¬
ming in the many lakes and rivers, wandering about their
world, and in long discussions which lasted several days.

Locke made his sole error in the description of the lens.
“So powerful is it,” he said, “that when the sun’s rays were
concentrated through it, a whole line of trees was set afire.”
Any rank amateur ought to know that a lens concentrates
rays in a point, and not in a line as the above statement im¬
plies. But an enthusiastic public either ignored or failed to
notice this error.

The denouement was swift and complete. A week after
the beginning of the series of articles the Journal of Com¬
merce decided to reprint it. News of their intentions reached
Locke, who advised them not to do so as the story was a
hoax. The secret was out in less time than it takes to tell.

Locke admitted that he had gotten the idea for the whole
affair from one Dr. Dick, who had previously published a
work on means of communicating with the moon. He also
stated that he had no accomplice except the editor of the
paper who had permitted the printing of the articles. If
what he says is true, we must rank Locke with the leading
fantasy authors. The Moon Hoax was one of the greatest
products of the human mind in the direction of fantasy.
And, although the hoax itself lasted only a few days, it lin¬
gered for several years in stage versions which were pre¬
sented everywhere. Even today it causes a quiet laugh at
the expense of the credulous people who believed Mr. Locke.
Simpletons indeed, to believe all this could have been seen
through a telescope!

But are the people of today less credulous? We wonder.

61

wt

by

FREDERICK

LEMURIA

ARNOLD KUMMER, JR. To the land of Mu came Khor, The Wanderer,

chapter I to defy Lalath, Queen of Lemuria, and her

Battle in the Grove demon god, Molech, whose breath was death

K HOR strode easily along the
broad highway, the sunlight

gleaming on the bronze shield between his the galley landed. Perhaps a rest, and a taste of

shoulders, the massive double headed axe dangling those tempting golden fruits. . . . Leaving the high-

from his belt. way, he entered the grove.

On either side of the highway lay pleasantly shady Khor was just bending over the brook when he
groves, nestling between the basalt cliffs. Clusters of heard it . . . shouts, the cries of warriors, and a
trees, orange, pomegranate, banyan—flowers, trailing clash of swords on armor. Tossing back his long, fair
jasmine, brilliant hibiscus, and the sacred lotus, filling hair, he straightened up, the light of battle in his eyes,
the air with a heavy breath-taking scent. Hastily he slipped his left arm through the leathern

Glancing about, Khor nodded approvingly. A thongs of his shield, gripped the heavy axe with his

pleasant place, this land of Mu. One in which a man right, and raced in the direction of the clamor,

might readily make his home, live in content. Most For just a moment, as Khor burst from the clump
men, that is. For Khor, whom they called the Wan- of trees, he hesitated, taking in the scene before him.
derer, knew no rest; the promise of the horizon drew On the grassy glade that lay between the frowning
him on, endlessly, seeking he knew not what. cliffs and the grove, a group of struggling figures was

62

FANTASTIC ADVENTURES

visible . . . one of them, a slender dark-haired young
man clad in a blue mantle . . . and the other four,
warriors in gleaming gilded armor, squat swarthy
men, their faces aglow with fierce exultation.

Some half dozen sprawling forms stretched upon
the ground attested to the bitterness of the fray, and
it seemed that another must soon lie there, for the
slender young man, already marked by a score of
wounds, was weakening under the assault of the four
warriors.

Khor marveled at the skill with which the youth,
armed only with a light hunting sword, defended him¬
self against the four flashing blades; yet it was evi¬
dent that his was a losing battle, that the men in the
golden armor were intent upon keeping him occupied
until loss of blood and exhaustion would cause him to
drop, an easy victim, at their feet.

It was this latter fact that decided Khor. Brave
men, he felt, would fight to kill . . . but this wearing
out of an opponent and then slitting his throat at one’s
leisure was the work of cowards. Grimly he raised
the burnished bronze axe, and, with a shout of en¬
couragement to the man in the blue mantle, sprang
from the shadow of the trees.

At the sound of Khor’s voice the little dark men
whirled about, their faces blank with amazement. A
god, he seemed to them, with his yellow hair, his white
skin; and though not considered overly tall in his
homeland of Crete, Khor’s six-foot frame, lithe and
clean-limbed, towered a full head above them.

God or man, however, the axe in his hand gleamed
ominously, and, leaving one of their number to occupy
the blue-clad youth, the three remaining warriors
turned to face this new antagonist.

■\X7TTH a quick leap Khor was upon them, grin¬
ning recklessly over the top of his round bronze
shield. As he closed in, two of his opponents’ curi¬
ously twisted swords licked out toward his chest, forc¬
ing him to keep his shield high. The third, bending
low, loosed a slashing stroke at Khor’s unprotected
legs.

“By Ishtar!” Khor cried, leaping backward to avoid
the blow. “A cowardly trick!”

And before the crouching warrior could straighten
up, the great bronze axe had descended, whistling,
with all the strength of Khor’s powerful arm behind
it. Through golden helm and bone the bronze blade
sheared, splitting the man’s head so that it fell apart
like the two halves of a nut. Before Khor could raise
the axe again, however, the other two were upon him,
sunlight gleaming brightly on their lifted swords.

Acting instinctively, the Cretan swung his left arm
wide. The heavy shield with its snarling lion’s head
in the center crashed into one of the gold-clad war¬
riors, sent him sprawling, his face a bloody mask.

The last of the three Murians, seeing Khor thus un¬
guarded, plunged forward, meaning to run him through
with the point. As, arm extended, he hurled toward
Khor, the Cretan swung the double headed axe once

more, swung it upward from its resting place in the
skull of the first warrior. In a slittering arc the keen-
edged weapon whirled up, slicing through the Murian’s
forearm cleanly, lopping it off at the wrist. For just
a moment the brown-skinned little man remained erect,
staring at his own hand, still clutching the gold-em¬
bossed sword hilt, on the ground at his feet. Then,
eyes glazed, he pitched face down to the grass.

“By the Sacred Altar of Minos!” Khor panted.
“These little brown devils can fight!”

Suddenly remembering the man in the blue mantle,
he turned to go to his assistance. The slender youth
was on one knee, defending himself desperately against
his black-browed, hot-eyed opponent.

“But a moment!” Khor cried, racing toward him.
“I ...”

He broke off, staring in open-mouthed admiration.
The man in the blue mantle, bleeding from a dozen
wounds, panting with exhaustion, had surged once
more to his feet and, by a supreme effort of will, struck
the sword from his enemy’s hand. Disarmed, fright¬
ened by the sight of Khor bearing down upon him,
the last of the gold-clad warriors took to his heels.

“ A IE!” The youth in the blue mantle leaned, pant-
^ ing, upon his sword, staring sadly at the sprawl¬
ing figures that littered the grove. Then, glancing up
at Khor, “I, myself, must have joined them had the
gods not sent you, stranger, to succor me. Are you
indeed earthborn?”

Khor, wiping the great axe with a tuft of grass,
laughed. When he spoke, it was in the liquid tongue
of Mu that the merchants aboard the galley had taught
him during the long voyage from Sathan, on the shore
of Ind.

“Khor the Wanderer, men call me,” he said. “From
the land of Crete in the Upper Sea, I come. For more
than a hundred moons have I traveled east. And now

I have reached this land of Mu, called by travelers the
home of the gods. Are you of the people of Mu?”

“Aye!” The slender youth threw back his head.
“Jador, I am called, ruler of Zac, which is part of the
great nation of Lemuria . . . Mu.”

“A prince!” Khor grinned ironically, glancing
at the bodies of the gold-clad warriors. “And
these . . . ?”

“Followers of my half-sister, Lalath.” The youth’s
face darkened. “Five years since, when I was still a
child, she seized the throne of Zac. Only through the
loyalty of my guard was I able to escape. Five years
in hiding, I spent, and now, having come of age, I
seek to regain my throne, re-establish the worship of
Narayama, the true god, in place of bloody Molech.
Today, accompanied by a few loyal retainers, I came
here to await the arrival of those who espouse my
cause, peasants, merchants, nobles, all sworn to as¬
semble here during the night, attack the city tomor¬
row. By mischance we encountered a patrol of La-
lath’s warriors . . . and the rest you know.”

Khor nodded his blue eyes on the great city that

ADVENTURE IN LEMUR!A

63

lay in the valley below. Towers, white as ivory, thrust
like lances at the sky; stately buildings, brilliant gar¬
dens, gleaming lakes, all encompassed by frowning
grey walls which seemed to Khor wide enough for
chariots to ride upon, two abreast.

“No handful of rebels will take that town against
well-trained warriors,” he muttered. “Mighty engines
of war, aye, and twice ten thousand men would find it
hard. Madness, lad, for you to dream of winning it.”

The young man squared his shoulders, and in spite
of his ragged, bloodstained garments, he seemed a
strong, commanding figure.

“Narayama the true god shall aid us,” he said
proudly. “In these hills above us lies the secret tomb
of my ancestors, mighty rulers of Zac. There I shall
pray to the Eternal One for guidance.” He stretched
out his hand, touched the Cretan’s right shoulder in
the Murian gesture of greeting or farewell. “When I
return to the throne of Zac, you will be rewarded.
Thanks and may the gods keep you.”

HPURNING, Jador crossed the glade, commenced to
ascend a rocky path cut into the dark, basalt cliffs.
Khor watched him, swaying with weakness, clutching
at projecting rocks, gnarled shrubs, in an effort to drag
himself upward.

“Stay!” The Cretan ran lightly, sure-footed as a
mountain goat, up the path. “You think to climb
these cliffs with half your blood spilled in battle?
Here, lad, take my arm!”

Gasping, Jador grasped Khor’s muscular elbow.

“Surely you must have been sent by the true gods,”
he muttered. “The way to our mountain abode is not
one for a wounded man . . . alone.”

Upward, ever upward, the path wound, no more
than a tiny ledge cut zig-zag in the face of the cliffs.
Khor, all but carrying the youth, was panting now, his
face damp with sweat.

At length, after what seemed hours of toil, the path
widened to a small shelf, some ten feet square. Before
them at the face of the cliff was a great disc of stone,
higher than a man’s head.

“Push it aside,” Jador whispered.

Khor placed his shoulder against the rim of the disc,
threw his weight upon it. Moving easily in a groove
cut for that purpose, the disc rolled to one side.

The entrance, overlooking the vast city ruled by
Jador’s half-sister led to Jador’s place of refuge.
What mysteries lay beyond, what loyal forces re¬
mained there to restore Jador to his kingdom, Khor
was not to discover. For Jador, extending his hand in
the Lemurian gesture of thanks, bade farewell to his
new-found friend.

After the ceremony of farewells, Jador stepped out
onto the shelf of rock, stared at the marble spires of the
city in the distance. “See, Khor, that rocky pinnacle
in the heart of the city? Upon its summit Lalath has
built an altar to Molech the Bull God, the Evil One.
There, it is said, the breath of Molech drives men
to madness, to death! We shall strike for it first to¬

morrow, destroy the temple! Thus with Molech over¬
thrown, we shall, by Narayama’s word, conquer! ”

“Perhaps,” Khor grunted, his composure restored
by the sunlight, the clean air of the mountains. “Yet
rather would I have a thousand bold warriors than
your god’s prophecy, for all his strength! It comes to
me, Jador, that I, a stranger, and therefore not to be
suspected, might enter the city and at the appointed
hour fall upon the guards of some postern gate, open it
to admit your armies.”

“A cunning plan!” The young prince’s face lit up.
“But no . . . such an attempt must surely fail. Six
warriors guard each of the lesser gates. Even one
with your strength and courage . . .”

Khor grinned, shook the double headed axe in grim
anticipation.

“You have but to name the gate,” he said. “That
little affair in the clearing just now has whetted my
appetite for a real struggle. Heklos here” ... he
caressed the weapon lovingly . . . “grows dull from
lack of use. Which gate, Jador, ruler of Zac?”

“You will do this, then?” The young prince’s eyes
turned searchingly to Khor’s rugged, clean-cut face.
“Why do you, an outlander from the west, risk your
life for an unknown fugitive?”

Khor pondered a while in silence, frowning thought¬
fully.

“Because I like you,” he said at length. “Perhaps
I do but follow my destiny.” He glanced down the
rocky path. “You can reach the bottom unassisted?”

Jador nodded.

“The north postern gate,” he said. “At the hour of
the rising sun. Narayama watch over you, Khor the
Wanderer!”

“Aye,” Khor grunted. “We shall be there—Hek¬
los and I! ”

CHAPTER II
Lalath

T T was close to sunset when Khor passed through the
main gate of Zac. Towering above the throng of
merchants, mendicants, and pilgrims who sought en¬
trance to the city before nightfall, he made a powerful,
imposing figure. On all sides there were curious
glances, exclamations at his height, his fair yellow
hair, his white skin. Oblivious, the Cretan strode on,
intent only on reaching the northern gate studying its
defenses for the morrow’s assault.

The city, Khor noticed, far surpassed any other he
had observed in his travels, even many-walled Ur, or
the mighty capital of Chin. Everywhere were majes¬
tic buildings of black and white marble, gaily deco¬
rated with striped awnings, roof-gardens ablaze with
flowers.

Khor had not proceeded far into the city before he
became aware that it was a feast day of some sort.
Merchants in the bazaars had their most priceless
gifts displayed. The streets were thronged with

64

FANTASTIC ADVENTURES

priests, pompous merchants, and flower girls strewing
the pavements with lotus blooms. On all sides were
warriors of the witch-queen’s guard, resplendent in
their golden armor, and nobles, dashing back and
forth in brazen chariots, contemptuous of the com¬
moners who fled to escape the thundering hoofs, the
grinding wheels.

Yet in spite of all this panoply and pageant-like
splendor, the Cretan detected another note. The mut¬
tered oaths that ran in the wake of a glittering guards¬
man, the dark looks, half-anger, half-fear, that fol¬
lowed the passage of a jewel-bedecked priest or noble.
Khor smiled. Perhaps Jador would not have such
hard work after all. . . . Turning to an ancient
white-bearded man beside him, he nodded.

“Your pardon, father. I am a stranger from the
west. What festival do you of Zac celebrate?”

“Festival?” The old man turned bitter eyes to the
Cretan. “Lalath, the witch-queen, sacrifices tonight
to Molech the Evil One. Twelve of our fairest youths
to face the bulls of the temple. Yes, and those who
survive are doomed to die from the poisonous breath
of Molech at dawn.”

“Eh?” Khor frowned. “As for facing bulls, we of
Minos, in the land of Crete, know somewhat. Aye,
none better. But these tales of a god whose breath
alone can slay . . .”

“Quiet, then, lest you discover for yourself.” The
old man, seeing a gold-armored warrior approach, dis¬
appeared into the crowd. Khor was about to follow
when he heard a shout behind him.

“Mighty Molech!” A deep voice roared. “It is he!
The white-skinned stranger who saved the life of that
dog Jador! Hold him!”

IZ'HOR whirled, found himself face to face with the
black-browed warrior who had escaped the morn¬
ing’s fray. Leaping backward, the Cretan snatched his
shield from between his shoulders, drew from his belt
the double-headed axe.

The first blow from Khor’s massive weapon split
the guardsman’s copper shield like a lath of wood.
Casting aside the useless buckler, the Murian ad¬
vanced warily, keeping beyond reach of the deadly
axe, striving to get in a telling blow at the Cretan’s
exposed head and legs. The noise of the fray, the
guardsman’s shouts, quickly attracted others of his
kind. Two, three, a dozen of the golden warriors were
crowding about the tall stranger. Khor, his back
against a stout marble wall, swung his axe in sweeping
circles, keeping them back. One, advancing over-
close for a thrust at Khor’s side, stepped into the path
of the blade. With a crunch the weapon bit through
his ornamental armor, laid bare his thigh. Another
warrior, taking advantage of his opening, leaped for¬
ward, only to retreat once more as a back-handed blow
slashed a bloody furrow across his chest.

And still the Cretan, by skillful use of his brazen
shield, remained untouched. Though not wounded,
his breath was beginning to come in gasps,

his face to gleam with sweat. Realizing that his
strength must sooner or later fail, he sprang to the
attack, hoping to cut his way through to freedom.
Once, twice, three times the blood-stained axe de¬
scended, and three Murians toppled to the ground.
The others, staring in amazement at this berzerk
stranger, drew back, afraid.

“Slingers!” someone shouted. “Quickly! He must
be taken alive for the queen’s sacrifice! An offering
to Molech! ”

Hearing this, Khor pressed forward desperately,
but the Murian warriors gave ground before him, yet
keeping him occupied with their curved swords. The
Cretan’s heart was pumping heavily, now, his muscles
aching. Dimly, through sweat-blinded eyes, he saw
stocky, brown-skinned men approaching, whirling
thongs of leather about their heads. With an instinc¬
tive gesture he flung up his shield, but it was too late.
Something hard crashed against his temple and the
world dissolved into mist.

'"pHE great amphitheater of Zac, sprawling at the
base of the crag upon which the black temple of
Molech stood, was ablaze with a thousand cressets.
Ruddy flame-light glittered upon tier after tier of tes¬
sellated marble. High at one end of the arena jeweled
lamps marked the queen’s dais, a raised platform of
carved sandalwood hung with silken draperies, cloth
of gold.

Suddenly the door at the end of the arena swung
open and a stocky, swarthy youth stepped into the
torches’ glare. Clad only in a breech-clout, unarmed,
he seemed pitifully small against the background of
eager, grinning faces. As the youth advanced toward
the center of the amphitheater, another door swung
wide and a great black bull, one of those sacred to
Molech, thundered into the arena. Scourged and
goaded into fury, his nostrils dilated, his mouth drip¬
ping foam, the huge beast circled the field, snorting,
pawing at the ground. All at once, catching sight of
the swarthy youth, he lowered his head, charged.

In vain the young man tried to step aside, avoid the
gilded horns. A quick toss of the bull’s head, and
the youth, a gored and bloody figure, was hurled across
the field. Savagely the bull turned, trampled his op¬
ponent into a crimson pulp.

On her couch of purple ostrich feathers Lalath,
queen of Zac, stifled a yawn. Her huge opalescent
eyes were apathetic and she twisted her lithe, near¬
nude body restlessly.

“See, Hatan,” she murmured to the resplendent
captain who stood beside her. “Another victory for
the sacred bull. Have we none among our captives
who will give us sport?”

“Perhaps, majesty,” the bedizened captain mur¬
mured. “There is one, an outlander from the west,
whom we took but a few hours since. A man of great
height, mighty strength. . .

“Let him be brought into the arena, then.” Lalath
smiled eagerly. “At once, Hatan! My people cry for

ADVENTURE IN LEMUR1A

65

action, for one who will tax the strength of the sacred
bull, before his entrails trail in the dust!”

Hatan bowed, spoke to a crouching Nubian slave.

A few moments later the brazen doors at the end of
the amphitheater again swung open and a tall power¬
ful figure strode across the sanded field. The ruddy
light of the cressets struck gold from his fair hair and
as he walked, lithe muscles rippled like water beneath
his white skin.

“So, Hatan!” Lalath leaned forward, wetting her
scarlet lips in anticipation. “You have done well!

Here, indeed, is one to give us sport!”

In the center of the arena Khor cast a quick glance
at the tiers of expectant faces, wheeled about as hooves
rumbled behind him. Head lowered, the grey-eyed bull
bore down upon him.

A grim smile passed over the Cretan’s features.

Arms extended, knees flexed, he waited. Nearer and
nearer the snorting black beast came. A choked
silence fell over the crowd. Was this outlander mad?

Did he hope to meet the charge of an infuriated bull
head-on? Lalath stood up, with a sweep of silken
robes.

“Fool!” she whispered. “Does he seek death, hop¬
ing to cheat us of our pleasure. . . .”

r T''HE queen’s voice trailed off in an indistinguishable
murmur, drowned by the roar of the spectators.

The Cretan, with a swift, unerring movement, had
grasped the lowered horns with his two hands, vaulted
lightly upward in a swinging somersault. His body de¬
scribed an arc through the air, his feet struck the bull’s
back lightly, and an instant later he had leaped to the
ground. Breathing easily, hands on hips, he stood be¬
hind the onrushing bull.

“Mighty Molech!” Lalath stood like an ivory im¬
age, her hands pressed to her breasts. “Never has
mortal eye beheld the like! See, the bull turns for
a second charge!”

Wheeling, the black monster hurtled toward Khor,
its hooves drumming the packed sand. Once more the
Cretan seized those blood-stained horns, swung grace¬
fully over the beast’s back. Again the bull charged,
and again . . . and always Khor’s skill enabled him she spoke to Hatan.

to avoid the deadly horns. Long moments passed and “Fetch me the stranger here,” she commanded. “At

a tense silence fell over the crowd. The bull was grow- once!” And a slow, sphinx-like smile upon her vivid

ing exhausted now, yet in a frenzy of frustrated rage face, she twined a lotus blossom in her dark, glossy

he kept up his attacks on the elusive Cretan. hair.

At length there came a time when Khor did not Shoulders squared, head high, Khor followed the re¬
leap from the beast’s path. Crouching, he waited until splendent Hatan up the carpeted steps to the queen’s

the weary animal was upon him, seized the gory horns dais. Lalath, lying back upon her silken couch,

once more. Then, throwing his weight to one side, studied him from beneath veiled eyelids,
his great muscles standing out like taut ropes, he “Who are you?” she murmured. “Never have I
twisted the bull’s head. Panting, utterly worn out, the seen a man of such strength and cunning, nor yet one

beast rolled over in the dust, lay, tamed, at the Cre- whose hair was like gold, skin like unto polished mar-

tan’s feet. ble, and eyes the color of distant mountains.”

A roar of approbation shook the amphitheater. “Khor the W T anderer, men call me,” he replied. “In
Priests, alarmed by the downfall of the sacred bull, my home at Minos, on the island of Crete, we joust

dispatched messengers to the queen’s dais, demanding with bulls for sport.”

the life of the stranger. These Lalath waved aside as , “Khor,” Lalath repeated. “The name becomes

66

FANTASTIC ADVENTURES

you.” She turned, whispered to the handmaidens who
stood behind her couch.

At once they arose, left the dais. Heavy curtains
fell from the carved sandalwood roof above, so that
Lalath and Khor were shut off from the crowds about
them, alone.

Khor, standing like a pale sculpture at the foot of
the couch, stared narrowly at the witch-queen. Slen¬
der, she was, her sleek body glowing like old ivory in
the light of the jeweled lamps. Her blue cloak lay in
folds upon the floor, so that her only garment was a
golden girdle clasped about her thighs. Her breasts,
firm and up-tilted, rose and fell slowly with her deep
breathing. Her scarlet lips were slightly parted and
her fingers on Khor’s arm as soft as rose petals.

Suddenly Lalath raised her eyes, black as a tropic
night, to Khor’s face. Like lodestone they drew him
nearer and nearer. Now he could feel her body tense
against his, her hot breath upon his cheek. And those
huge dark eyes, twin pools of Lethe, bringing forget¬
fulness. ...

All at once fear swept over Khor. Bottomless, the
queen’s eyes seemed, pits of evil, haunted by the de¬
mons of hell. Dim eldritch mysteries, unspeakable
thoughts, monstrous, vampire-like longings, lurked in
their depths. Revulsion, a feeling of uncleanliness
gripped the Cretan. Roughly he broke away from
those clinging arms, sprang to his feet.

“Khor!” Lalath whispered. “What is it? See. . .
am I not desirable? Do my caresses fail to please?
Come. . . .”

“Nay.” Khor laughed harshly. “Sooner would I
take an adder to my breast. They are right who call
you the witch-queen! ”

With these words a terrible change came upon
Lalath. Face contorted, eyes blazing with fury, she
leaped to her feet.

“Hatan!” she cried hoarsely. “Guards!”

Khor stared at her, stunned by the sight of her de¬
moniacal, distorted features. Hatan, followed by three
guards, brushed through the purple curtains.

“So, Hatan” . . . the queen spoke with cold men¬
ace, ice, where a moment before she had been fire . . .
“this outlander finds my arms unwelcome! Perhaps
the arms of Molech may console him. Tell the priests
of the temple that I shall be present at the dawn sacri¬
fice to see him die! ”

“She-devil!” Khor lunged forward, seeking that
soft throat with grasping fingers. Hatan and the three
guards seized him, dragged him, struggling, from the
pavilion. And as, stunned by their savage blows,
Khor stumbled down the broad steps, he seemed to see
the face of Lalath, smiling mockingly at him.

CHAPTER III
The Bull God

HE rocky cell beneath the temple was dark, damp.
Khor paced restlessly back and forth, straining at

the leathern thongs which bound his wrists. Some¬
how it was impossible to drive the thought of Jador,
gallant young prince of Zac, from his mind. Boast¬
fully he had promised Jador that he would open the-
northern gate. And Jador, believing in him, would
count upon that gate’s being unbarred.

Had he, Khor, fulfilled his mission, it would have
been easy. A sudden entrance through the unde¬
fended postern, taking the queen’s guards by surprise,
freeing, arming the people. But now . . . Khor
shook his head drearily.

Finding the gate barred they would be forced to
retreat, seek scaling ladders, ropes. And by the time
these were collected, the city’s garrison would be fully
aroused, the walls strongly manned.

Khor glanced through the tiny grating of the win¬
dow. False dawn paled the eastern sky. Already
Jador and his followers would be assembled at the
tomb of the kings, marching toward the city. At any
rate he, Khor, would not be alive to see their defeat.
Death, on the altar of Molech. ... A sorry way for
a warrior to die. Perhaps, had he not repulsed La¬
lath . . . Khor shook his head once more, at memory
of the witch-queen’s luminous, hypnotic eyes. Better
the breath of Molech than . . .

Soft, shuffling footsteps in the hallway outside, the
creaking of a drawn bolt. Slowly the ponderous door
swung open. Three priests, lean, wrinkled vultures,
stood on the threshold, their sable robes giving them
the appearance of bodiless spectres in the gloom.

“Come.” The leader of the three, he with the jade
and silver headdress, motioned Khor forward with a
wave of his long sacrificial knife.

Upward, along stone steps, they advanced. Cres¬
sets, set at regular intervals along the way, shone
glassily upon wet, slimy walls. As they ascended,
more groups joined them, those other unfortunates
doomed to die upon Molech’s altar, accompanied by
their guard of black-robed priests. Here, a young
girl, slim, lovely; here, an old man, grey, bent; a fat,
quaking merchant, a weeping child . . . Impotent
rage gripped the Cretan. If only he had not failed
Jador. . . .

Ahead they could hear the sound of music, a throb¬
bing, ominous chant filled with tortured wails, the
macabre cadence of death. Louder and louder, ap¬
proaching a furious crescendo, a cry of blood-lust.

Instinctively the priests quickened their steps, eyes
glowing. Jeweled curtains at the end of the corridor
drew back as they approached. Urged forward at the
point of the sacrificial knives, the captives stumbled
through the entrance.

Rows of sable-clad worshippers lined the sides of
the temple, chanting their fierce melody, exultant. In
the center of the vast hall a pyramid rose, thrusting
into the shadows of the ceiling. Atop the pyramid sat
a figure, awe-inspiring, terrible. Thrice human size,
it was, the body that of a man, the head, bloated,
bestial, obscene, that of a bull. Ghastly, inhuman, the
face of Molech, its bovine lips half-parted, its eyes

ADVENTURE IN LEMURIA

67

wild, lustful. At sight of the- image, a wail of horror
broke from the wretched captives.

CUDDENLY a figure kneeling at the foot of the
^ pyramid arose, faced the line of human sacrifices.
Lalath, clad in the sombre robes of high priestess, her
blood-red lips set in a satanic smile. Cruel, deep, eyes
swept the row of captives, resting a moment, mock¬
ingly, on Khor. Then her hand shot out indicating
the slim girl beside him. Immediately two priests, bra¬
ziers of burning incense in their hands, stepped for¬
ward, seized the girl, dragged her before Lalath.
Laughing harshly, the queen lashed the girl’s feet,
motioned toward the grinning statue of Molech.

The two priests set down their braziers of incense
and, picking up the half-conscious girl, commenced to
climb the pyramid. Khor, unable to tear his eyes
away, followed their ascent with morbid fascination.

Now the priests were at the top of the pyramid,
working in haste as though afraid. Upon the open
hands of Molech, outstretched beneath his grinning
lips, the girl’s slender figure was placed. Quickly the
priests descended.

Khor stared at the girl, her frightened, colorless
face upturned to the parted lips of the idol. What
was it they said about the breath of Molech? Yet
the girl seemed in no way harmed, lying passively on
the huge hands, her eyes on the distorted countenance
above. All at once he saw her stir, restlessly.

Words issued from her lips, strange, incoherent
words, spoken in a thick, unnatural voice. Babblings,
the ravings of an empty mind. The girl was squirm¬
ing, writhing about, now, eyes glazed, nostrils dilated.
Suddenly she began to gasp, her face black. Panting,
choking, she fought against the strange force that was
tearing her soul from her body. Then, abruptly, the
struggle ceased. Limp, motionless, she lay in the
giant hands, her slender form drained of life. And
above her the cruel bull-god, its stone lips set in sav¬
age ecstasy. . . .

Watching, Khor felt the hair at the back of his
neck stiffen. Yet somewhere, he was sure, he had
seen a similar occurrence. Somewhere . . . why did
the explanation elude him? Was it in Syric ... or
Mayaban? . . .

Now the priests were ascending the steps of the
pyramid, removing the girl’s body from the clutching
stone hands. Again Lalath’s gold-flecked eyes swept
the line of victims and this time her finger pointed to
Khor. Two more dark figures advanced, swinging
their glowing braziers. They seized Khor, dragged
him before Lalath.

“So, my Khor.” The queen’s voice was like poi¬
soned wine. “You may now know which is sweeter,
my breath or that of Molech.” Then, to the priests,
“Bind his feet well, that he may not leap from the
Arms of Death.”

As they bent to lash his ankles, Khor tensed his
muscles. Better a struggle, death from the sacrificial
knives, then the foul breath of the Bull God. The

Cretan tossed back his fair hair, laughed exultantly.
Now ...

A sound of trumpets, the shouts of warriors in the
city below froze Khor to immobility. Jador, attack¬
ing! Believing that the northern gate was free! Not
knowing of his . . . Khor’s . . . failure!

CUDDEN tumult, cries of alarm, swept the great
hall. Priests and captives alike turned to gaze
between the black columns, view the spectacle below.
From the slopes at the north of the city a small army
was approaching, racing toward the postern gate. A
rabble of peasants, for the most part, armed with
scythes, knives, clubs. At their head was a slender
figure in a blue cloak. Faint shouts of “Jador!” and
“Narayama!” echoed from the plain.

Now Jador and his band were before the northern
gate. Springing forward, the young prince threw his
weight upon the bronze door, but it did not yield. A
cry of dismay arose from his followers. Watching,
Khor ground his teeth in helpless rage. Within the
city gold-armored figures were streaming toward the
walls, the morning sun flashing upon their helmets,
their shields. Arrows, spears, huge stones cast by
mighty engines of war were cutting swaths in the
ranks of the attackers.

In desperation Jador and his band hammered upon
the gate with sword and axe, sought to scale the walls.
Half their number had by now fallen before the rain
of missiles from the walls, and the remainder were
beginning to waver. Behind the gate the queen’s
charioteers waited, reining in their snorting horned
steeds. Once the rebels commenced to retreat they
would issue forth, cut down the fleeing remnants.

“Ah!” Lalath, watching with avid eyes, laughed.
“None shall escape! The Cretan shall be a victory
offering to mighty Molech.”

Khor, straining at his bonds, gazed hopelessly at
the struggle below. Brave, these furious assaults, but
futile. So before the walls of Troy had the men of
Hellas . . . Khor straightened up suddenly. Hellas!
That was what he had been trying to think of! The
temple at Delphi, where a strange invisible vapor is¬
sued from a cleft in the rocks, to drug the minds of
the priestesses! And fire had been forbidden in the
temple. . . . What if there were such a cleft be¬
neath the statue of Molech! *

* Delphi, an ancient town in Greece, was celebrated for its oracle
of Apollo. The temple of the oracle was situated on the southern
slope of Mt. Parnassus. From underground caverns come cold
vapors and the region is liable to violent shocks from earthquakes.
The oracle took many forms, from the whispering of the laurel
leaves, to Pythia,—at first a maiden, then a woman over 50 years
old garbed as a maiden, who drank from the holy spring, and then
sat in the inner shrine, called the adytum. Her drugged utterances
were taken down, and put into hexameters by poets attached to
the temple. The oracle was consulted by states, and kings in mat¬
ters of political policy, by private persons in personal matters, such
as voyages, business venture, marriage, and other details of daily life.
Thus it was that volcanic gasses had quite a bit to do with the destiny
and the lives of the people of ancient Greece.

Undoubtedly the gasses of the god, Molech, were much more
poisonous than those at Delphi, and also more inflammable.—Ed.

FANTASTIC ADVENTURES

“Gods of Crete!” Khor muttered. “I have it!
Give me strength!” And with one herculean effort he
snapped the leather thongs that bound his wrists, his
feet.

All eyes were on the battle below, none watching
him. Swiftly he snatched up one of the braziers of
flaming incense, raced up the steps of the pyramid.
Higher, ever higher, into the swirling shadows that
cloaked the roof of the temple.

Now there were shouts from the priests, and a knife
clattered against the stone beside him. Too late . . .
the Cretan was already at the base of the huge image.
Quickly drawing back his arm, Khor hurled the bra¬
zier of incense straight into the open, grinning mouth
of Molech!

A S to what happened next, Khor was never quite
^ certain. A sheet of flame blinded him and the
temple rocked like a ship at sea. Sliding, rolling,
he fell from the pyramid, landed, half-stunned, on the
marble floor below. On all sides the priests of Molech,
mad with fear, were attempting to escape to the city
below. Khor picked himself up, glanced about. Great
sections of the roof were breaking loose, the black
pillars beginning to crumble. The Bull God was en¬
veloped in a roaring fountain of flame and vague rum¬
blings sounded in the earth below.

As in a dream Khor saw Lalath, her lips parted in
a bestial snarl, pluck a knife from her girdle, draw
back a slender arm. Before she could hurl the weapon,
another tremor shook the temple and the huge seated
figure atop the pyramid rocked, toppled from its base.
A scream of terror broke from Lalath’s throat; in¬
stinctively, as though to ward off the tons of falling
stone, she threw up an arm. One glimpse of that
vivid diabolically beautiful face Khor had, before it
was buried beneath the grinning bull-like idol.

Choking in the dust, the Cretan remembered stum¬
bled from the temple, then raced down the steps cut
in the rocky crag. Chaos gripped the city below.
Buildings, monuments, shaken into heaps of rubble;
great fissures, spouting smoke and flame, gaping in
the streets. The earth shook. To the north where
Jador and his men watched with awe-filled eyes, huge
sections of the city wall collapsed in heaps of ruin.

Now Khor was in the streets of the town, fighting
his way through the maddened crowds. Rocks, stones,
fell everywhere; through the pall of smoke above the
crag a pillar of fire thrust like a blazing brand at the

heavens. Cries of terror arose on all sides. “Molech
has fallen!” “Mighty Molech is no more!” Sud¬
denly a roar of ear-splitting violence shook the streets,
hurled the Cretan against the side of a house. Glanc¬
ing back, he saw the dark pinnacle fly into fragments!

For seven awful minutes the earth heaved and
tossed, cracked wide to belch molten stone, and then
the pillar of flame was choken out by masses of shat¬
tered rock, the subterranean rumbling ceased, and the
ground was still. Khor rubbed the dust from his eyes.
Ahead he could hear the triumphant shouts of Jador
and his men.

“Narayama has spoken! The True Gods have de¬
stroyed Molech, breached the walls of the city! The
prophecy of the tombs is fulfilled! Hail Jador, be¬
loved of the Gods!” And in joyful answer the people
took up the shout, “Hail Jador! Hail Narayama!”

The Cretan, pushing his way to the fore, grinned.
Let Jador’s gods receive the credit for all that had
occurred; it would increase the young king’s prestige.
People preferred miracles to explanations anyhow.
Still grinning, the Cretan advanced toward the king.

“Khor! ” Jador’s eyes widened. “Now truly are you
favored of the gods! They told me you died in
Molech’s arms! See”. . . he pointed to a bronze axe
and shield lying at his feet. “These we found among
the trophies of the witch-queen’s guards. I had or¬
dered them hung in the Hall of Heroes! ”

“Nay!” Khor gripped the axe and shield joyously.
“The Wanderer has yet to make his last journey!”
Eyes aglow, he faced the rising sun. “Too long has
the dust and dirt of city streets clogged my nostrils!
The blue line of the horizon calls. . .

“You will not then remain?” Jador’s smile was sad.
No honors, no wealth, will hold you?”

“None.” Khor’s gaze was on dim distant hills.
“Not even my love for you, lad!”

“Thus I gain a kingdom and lose a friend,” Jador
murmured. “The gods watch over you, Khor the
Wanderer!”

“Aye!” Khor gripped the boy’s shoulder. “Hail
and farewell, Jador, King of Zac!”

Turning, he strode from the square. Already, al¬
though he had not yet reached the boundaries of the
city, Zac, Jador, Lalath, were things of the past; his
fierce blue eyes were bright with dreams of new lands,
new people, new adventure. Breathing deeply of the
cool morning air, Khor the Wanderer took the high¬
way that fed to the east.

FANTASTIC ADVENTURES

(Continued from Page 4 )

QCIENCE scores again! According to the Geological
^ Survey, water will not boil at a height of twenty miles.
Therefore, they state, it would be impossible to boil an egg
at that height. They tell us that it is not impossible to
boil an egg atop Pike’s Peak, where water boils at 180
degrees, rather than the 212 degrees normal at sea level.
So it would seem that stratosphere travelers of the year
2000 will have to do without their boiled egg in the morn¬
ing. It will be a hardship.

T'VR. LEONHARD STEJNEGER of the Smithsonian
Institute comes forth to blast the ancient and honor¬
able theory that toads remain alive while imbedded in solid
rock. He says: “The fact is, toads for the purpose of hi¬
bernation dig holes in the ground or crawl into fissures
of rocks. Occasionally such speci¬
mens are found after blasting op¬
erations and the conclusion hastily
drawn that the toad had been liv¬
ing inside the solid rock.”

Well, there goes another of our
superstitions. Science surely has
been blasting away at superstition
at that, hasn’t it? We’ve been
placing supernatural explanations
on natural things for long ages,
since we swung by our tails in pri¬
meval trees, and superstition has
become such an inborn habit that
even the most scientific minded of
us still retain some bits of it. How¬
ever, most of us are beginning to
swing the other way now, and in¬
stead of avoiding walking under
ladders, or detouring black cats, we
deliberately walk beneath, or give
the cat a glassy stare of contempt.

npHE 100 inch telescope at Mt.

"Honest to Pete, Folks, the Martians

1

Wilson brings the apparent

surface of the moon to within 31 miles of Earth, and we
are told that the new 200-inch telescope at Palomar will
reduce this apparent distance to less than eight miles.
Maybe someday some enterprising advertiser will think to
use this marvelous advertising space. They think of every¬
thing else!

A ND just to further confuse us, physicists tell us sound
sometimes is so loud it can’t be heard. They tell us
the human ear is paralyzed by the advance wave of a very
loud sound and refuses to register it.

Another interesting point about sound they bring to our
attention is the fact that two sounds, contrary to what we’d
believe, are sometimes not as loud as one, in fact they
cancel each other out, and we hear nothing at all! They
explain it this way: Two sounds, meeting each other so
that the condensation part of one wave meets the rarefac¬
tion part of the other, will neutralize each other. Strike a

tuning fork and twirl it slowly about its axis. The sound
will become faint four times in a revolution where the two
sound waves from the two prongs interfere with each other.

S TORMS caused by sunspots were traced to their real
lair by observing the time at which they recurred. It
seems that magnetic storms on the earth generally, although
not always, occur when there is a large spot near the cen¬
tral meridian of the sun. These storms frequently recur
at intervals of 27.3 days, which is the period of the sun’s
synodic revolution. The average time of the commence¬
ment of a magnetic storm is about 30 hours after the
passage of the spot over the central meridian of the
sun.

TTERE, in case you haven’t been able to discover the
data, is a little about Pluto, our outermost planetary
neighbor. Her distance from earth is now 41 astronomical
units, or 3,813,000,000 miles. Her mass is known to be
smaller than at first believed, and it is tentatively placed at
about that of Earth. Her orbit is elliptical, its plane in¬
clined to that of the other major planets at about 31 degrees,
21 minutes. The size of her orbit
is roughly 433 astronomical units,
or 433 times 93 million miles.
(This is the long diameter.) The
time she will require for a complete
circuit of her orbit is 3200 years.
She will be visible to earth tele¬
scopes for perhaps a hundred years
more, then will vanish into space
for 3000 years. However, we’ll no
doubt have developed more pow¬
erful telescopes by then, so don’t
worry about losing track of one of
the favorite worlds of our science
fiction writers.

117'E were recently visited by
' * science fiction author Robert
Moore Williams, who is well
known by science fiction readers,
and as a result, he will turn his
creative ability toward Fantastic
Adventures in the near future.
Mr. Williams has some decided
ideas on fantastic fiction and is

anxious to work them out on paper.

TXTHICH just about makes the last entry in your editor’s
’ * notebook for this issue. We’ll be back again in the
next with a lot more of this type of jottings, and mean¬
while we want your opinion on the magazine in general.

Our next issue will bring Paul to you once more, this
time with the “Man From Venus” the second of his new
series which will eventually carry the reader through the
whole solar system. If we know anything about science
fiction readers, this series will be hailed with delight. We’ve
long needed a planetary analysis of science fiction’s “crea¬
tures of other worlds.”

So write in and let us know what you think about your
new magazine, Fantastic Adventures. We are open to
all suggestions, because we intend to make the magazine
the finest ever presented, and your opinion is valued.

70

OF RET-SEH

BY A. HYATT VERRILL

CHAPTER I
The Cat

T HE mummy case was the finest thing of its
sort that Hargraves ever had' seen; a mag¬
nificent thing marvelous with paint and gold.
It was a slender elaborate affair showing the figure
of a woman, a woman who must have been a ravish¬
ing beauty in life if the carved and painted face was
even a passable likeness of the original whose body
was—supposedly—within the case.

Moreover, it was a strikingly lifelike face; a face

of perfect oval, with a delicate cleft chin, with beau¬
tifully rounded cheeks, with broad low forehead
crowned with masses of black hair, with a thin straight
nose that would have been imperious had it not been
for the uptilted tip; with arching brows over lustrous
eyes that seemed—even in painted form—to gaze up
at Hargraves with a questing, ardent expression; and
with carmine lips parted in an alluring, most provoca¬
tive smile.

“Actually looks as if she wanted to be kissed,”
mused Hargraves as he stood off and admired the
carved and painted figure. “Must have been a pretty
thing if she looked like that. Regular heart-breaker,
back in days of the Pharaohs, I expect. And what a
figure! Might represent Pharaoh’s daughter at the

the imagination, for it was
> consisting mainly of jew-
But Hargraves, although
oveliness of the form with
waist, rounded breasts and
t quite impersonally. To
a mummy-case, an excep-
len, perhaps unique, for he
;ver having seen a case on
hich the occupant was de-
ractically nude. He was
elighted at his new acquisi-
e more so because it had
nexpectedly.

long wanted a mummy for
;tion. Not an ordinary
mch as are obtainable by
t a really fine mummy that
d been unwrapped, a
)f some personage of emi-
irhaps a royal mummy—in-

orage auction he had pur-
>ox said to contain Oriental
[ curios, and upon opening
he had been amazed and
lighted at finding that the

There she stood, the most
beautiful woman Har¬
graves had ever seen

72

FANTASTIC ADVENTURES

“Oriental goods and curios” consisted of just such
a mummy-case as he had longed to add to his private
museum. Best of all, the case apparently had never
been opened and still contained a mummy in its origi¬
nal wrappings.

Whose mummy, he wondered, was within it? Of
course it would be that of a woman. But who was
she? Was she the daughter of a Pharaoh? Was she
of the nobility? Was she a priestess or a vestal virgin
of some cult or temple? Was she the favorite wife of
some long dead king, a royal concubine or merely some
common courtesan?

It was fascinating to speculate on her identity, and
Hargraves looked forward with keen anticipation to
removing the wrappings from the deceased lady’s
body.

Dusting off the case he started to open it when he
remembered that he had a dinner engagement with
the Claytons. He had less than an hour in which to
dress and rush off. He would have to leave the
mummy case until another time. But he was con¬
sumed with curiosity to know beyond doubt if the
case contained the mummy intact. He worked rap¬
idly, almost feverishly, and at last the lid was loose.

Filled with suppressed excitement he gently raised
the cover. Disturbed by the suction and the inrush
of air, a little smokelike cloud of dust issued from the
case, and Hargraves was aware of a most peculiar
odor. It was not the musty smell of dessicated flesh
and textiles, not the bituminous or spicy scent of
frankincense or myrrh which might have been ex¬
pected. Instead, it was pungently sweet, rather cloy¬
ing, a sensuous perfume that reminded him of the
odor of some exotic flowers.

But he scarcely noticed it at the time, as he peered
into the case. Yes, the mummy was there. Wrapped
in cloths that scarcely were stained, that were almost
as white as on the day when they had been wound
about the body, was a shapeless form—no doubt the
mummy of the woman whose beauty was perpetuated
upon the lid of the case.

Lowering the cover, Hargraves glanced at his watch
and dashed off.

AF course, he had to tell the Claytons about the
new acquisition to his collection.

Mrs. Clayton shuddered. “Really, I think it quite
terrible—having such a gruesome object in one’s
home,” she declared. “And positively indecent.”

Her husband chuckled. “Because it’s a young lady,
my dear?” he inquired.

“No, because it is a dead body, even if mummi¬
fied,” she told him. “Would you care to have the body
of your daughter treated as a curiosity and placed on
exhibition?”

Clayton winked at Hargraves. “I haven’t a daugh¬
ter, you know,” he reminded his wife, “and not being
a Pharaoh I can’t say how I should feel in regard to
the matter.”

But as Clayton was not interested in mummies, he

turned the conversation into other channels.

As his hosts did not keep late hours, and as he had
an accumulated mass of correspondence to attend to,
Hargraves left early, and he heard a clock strike
eleven as he drove homeward.

As he stood before his door, fumbling for his key,
a low “meow” caused him to turn. Seated upon the
doorsteps, her tawny eyes fixed upon him, was a large
tortoise shell cat.

“Well, puss, what do you want?” he asked good
naturedly.

For answer the cat rose, arched her back and rubbed
herself, purring, against his legs. She was an excep¬
tionally fine and handsome specimen and Hargraves,
who was fond of animals, stooped and stroked her
head as he turned the key in the lock.

“Now run along home,” he admonished her. But
instead of obeying, the cat slipped through the door
and vanished in the dark hallway.

“Here, kitty, kitty!” he called. “Come along. Out
you go, tabby. This isn’t your home.”

But there was no response and he snapped on the
lights. The cat, however, was nowhere to be seen.
“Hmm,” he thought as he removed hat and coat, “I’ll
have to hunt her up and put her out. Must belong to
some neighbor, she’s no common alley cat.” Still, he
reflected, there wasn’t any hurry. He’d let her remain
until he was ready for bed. She was an efficient look¬
ing beast and he had noticed signs of mice in the
house. Make her pay for admittance, as one might
say.

He stepped into his study and switched on the
light. “Well, well!” You certainly have made your¬
self at home,” he exclaimed, as he saw the cat curled
upon the lounge by the open fire, her tawny eyes half-
closed and watching him speculatively.

“All right, old girl,” he said, as he seated himself at
his table, “stay there if you’re comfortable. And—”
he added as he glanced at her—“you are rather deco¬
rative, you know.”

Busy with papers and letters, Hargraves forgot the
cat completely. Presently, however, he was aware of
a peculiar odor obtruding itself upon his senses. It
was most unusual and yet somehow familiar—a pun¬
gently sweet smell—and he sniffed suspiciously at a
square, lavender-colored envelope he had not yet
opened. Then, suddenly, he remembered. Of course!
It was the same odor he had noticed when he had
opened the mummy case. He must have left the door
to his museum room ajar. A slight sound, suspiciously
like a yawn, caused him to turn, sharply.

Dumbfounded, speechless, he stared incredulously,
unable to believe the evidence of his senses.

Reclining upon the lounge, regarding him with half-
closed languorous eyes, was a woman! In exactly the
same pose, the same spot, as lay the cat just a few min¬
utes earlier!

jpvESPITE his amazement and his chaotic state of
mind at finding a strange female in his study,

THE MUMMY OF RET-SEH

73

Hargraves was aware of the fact that she was very
lovely. And, mingled with his astonishment and his
wonder as to who she was and how she had entered
the room, was a distinct sense of embarrassment for
the young lady was most scantily clad.

All these varied sensations, thought and reactions
were instantaneous. And in the fraction of a second
while they were flashing through his mind, he also
sensed something familiar about the appearance of
his alluring but uninvited and mysterious guest. Then,
as once more that peculiar, exotic perfume filled his
nostrils, a chill ran along his spine, his scalp tingled.
The woman on the lounge was the living counterpart
of the figure on the mummy-case!

For the briefest of moments, Hargraves was terri¬
fied. But the next second common senses drove fear
from his brain. Of course it was only some optical
or mental illusion. He hadn’t been drinking, so it
wasn’t the result of alcohol. No, it was just his men¬
tal state—subconscious thoughts of the mummy plus
a tired brain, coupled with that odor from the mu¬
seum room. Of course there was no woman there.
There simply couldn’t be. Just imagination.

With no little effort of will power he closed his
eyes. He held them closed one second, two seconds,
five seconds. Then he raised his lids slowly, looking
straight toward the lounge.

The woman was gone, completely disappeared. In
her place lay the cat, with tawny eyes sleepily half-
closed.

It was just as he had expected—purely a hallucina¬
tion, a psychological matter. Still he didn’t relish the
idea of seeing visions. He never had been subject to
nerves, optical illusions nor even dreams. He decided
he had better see his physician. He must have been
overdoing—needed a change of scene perhaps.

He yawned, stretched himself and turned to pick
up the cat and put her out. But the creature had
vanished.

He peered sleepily about the room, calling “Kitty,
kitty,” but there was no answering “meow.”

“Bother the beast!” he muttered. “I’ll put her out
in the morning.”

He turned to leave the room, cast a final glance at
the lounge and started. Something that sparkled was
resting among the cushions. He stepped forward and
picked it up. Once again he felt that tingling at the
back of his neck. The object was a little golden orna¬
ment—a pendant in the form of a cat’s head!

For a moment Hargrave’s head reeled. The thing
was—“Rot!” he ejaculated. “I’m getting nerves. The
thing must have dropped from the cat’s collar.”

Tossing the bauble onto his table, he switched off
the lights, strode from the study and mounted the
stairs to his bedroom. He was sleepier than he had
realized. Undressing in a jiffy, Hargrave opened his
window wide, switched off the bedroom light, and
jumped into bed.

The next instant, with a choking, gurgling cry, he
leaped to the floor. There, lying in the bed, reclining

comfortably under the covers, was a woman!

One arm was extended above her head, masses of
dark hair covered the pillow, and to Hargrave’s shat¬
tered senses her eyes appeared to shine with a tawny
luminous light. He felt icy cold. He feared he had
gone raving mad. And in his nostrils was that cloying
perfume, almost overpowering in its intensity.

For fully ten seconds he stood there, flattened
against the wall, gasping, on the verge of collapse.
Then, summoning all his will power, and compelling
his benumbed muscles to obey, he edged slowly to¬
wards the light switch, though keeping his eyes fixed
upon that motionless form upon the bed. He was
almost at the switch, his outstretched fingers were
groping for it, when he stubbed his toe against a chair.
Involuntarily, with a sharp cry of pain, he glanced
down. At the same instant his fingers touched the
switch and the room was flooded with light.

The bed was empty.

For a moment Hargraves stared. He could not be¬
lieve it possible. The vision—for of course it had been
a vision—had been so lifelike, so damnably real. And
that odor! Was it possible, he wondered, for a per¬
son to have optical and nasal illusions coincidently?

Trembling, shaken, nervous and overwrought, he
moved toward the bed. It was empty, there wasn’t
the least doubt about that. It had been only— He
leaped back as if struck. Upon the pillow was a hol¬
low, an indentation such as a human head would have
made.

With hands that shook so he scarcely could hold
the glass, he poured himself a stiff drink of whiskey
and gulped it down raw. Then, with set jaws, with
grim determination, he secured his revolver, saw to
it that it was fully loaded, and with electric torch in
one hand and cocked pistol in the other, he started
on a hunt for the cat.

He was convinced that the cat had been the direct
cause of his hallucinations, for he mentally had con¬
vinced himself that they were hallucinations. There
had been no woman on the lounge, no woman on the
bed. The idea was utterly preposterous. A flesh and
blood woman simply couldn’t have been there, and he
didn’t believe in spirits or ghosts. As for those inden¬
tations on the pillow—they, of course, had been made
by the cat.

Neither had he any intention of shooting at the
visionary woman if she should again appear. If—he
argued to himself as he switched on lights and searched
through the rooms for the cat—if she were a vision,
it would be ridiculous to shoot at it. And if not—
but of course that was an utter impossibility—then
he certainly was not going to murder some bold hussy
who had intruded her unwelcome presence upon him.

In fact his mental state was decidedly chaotic. Al¬
though common sense told him that the whole affair
had been a figment of his mind, the result of nerves
and thoughts of the mummy, yet another lobe of his
brain was arguing that it had been no figment of im¬
agination; but that a woman actually had been in his

74

FANTASTIC ADVENTURES

study and in his bed. Still another brain cell, which
he could not stifle, was suggesting something occult
and supernatural, and was connecting the visions with
the mummy in a most unpleasant manner.

And despite his mental arguments and his utter dis¬
belief in anything either inexplicable or supernatural,
nothing on earth would have induced Hargraves to
have entered the museum room.

But search as he might elsewhere, he could find no
trace of the cat, and at last, cursing himself for a fool,
and deciding he must consult Doctor Gale in the morn¬
ing, he returned to his room, gulped down another
double Scotch and, locking his door, went to bed.

CHAPTER II
The Lost Mummy

TT was very late when Hargraves awoke. The events
A of the night seemed like a dream; but the glass
with the dregs of whiskey, the loaded revolver and
the electric torch by his bedside assured him that they
had actually taken place. And although he felt per¬
fectly normal he did not alter his decision to see his
physician.

Hargraves lived alone. He took all his meals out,
and as he detested having servants about the place
he had arranged for an eminently respectable middle-
aged widow to come each morning to attend to the
necessary housework. But the widow Stebbins had
been given strict orders never to enter the museum
room, for Hargraves would trust no one to dust and
sweep about his cherished specimens.

“Did you see anything of a cat?” he asked Mrs.
Stebbins, as he entered the study where she was busily
dusting.

“A cat!” she exclaimed, looking at him in surprise.
“Indeed, sir, I did not! And what might a cat be
doing in your house, sir?”

“She was outside—on the doorstep—when I came
in last night,” he explained. “She slipped in when I
opened the door. Couldn’t find her when I went to
put her out.”

“Well, sir, she’s not here now,” the widow assured
him. “And—” she added—“if she be, out she’ll go
the moment I put my eyes onto her. A cat indeed—”
she muttered. “A tabby-cat in a bachelor’s house.
Now if ’twas a fine dog—” Her voice trailed off as
Hargraves left the room.

Somewhat hesitatingly he opened the door to the
room that housed his collections, and glanced within.
Queer, he thought, how those ridiculous hallucinations
of the night still affected him. He actually felt a
trifle—well, not precisely afraid, but rather suspicious
of the mummy case. Rot of course, but still— He
stood staring, gaping.

The mummy case stood just where he had left
it but—open! The lid was pushed far to one
side, yet he could have sworn that he had closed
it on the preceding afternoon. But — he decided

as he got his nerves under control—it must have
been that in his hurry and excitement he had failed
to replace the lid. This mental argument was not,
however, as convincing as he would have liked. He
remembered distinctly having lifted the lid but
slightly—just enough to enable him to glance within
the case in order to see if it contained the—

Resolutely he marched forward, and actually felt
vastly relieved when he found the contents of the
case intact. Laughing at his vague, almost supersti¬
tious uneasiness of a moment before, he replaced the
lid, left the room and started for Doctor Gale’s office.

ITE wondered just how he could broach the subject
to the physician. He hated to tell him what he
had seen—or rather imagined. Yet he couldn’t see
a way out of it. Perhaps he could evade it by merely
stating he had seen “things,” without explaining just
what. Or he might say he had seen a cat where it
didn’t exist. But no, that wasn’t the same thing at
all, for the cat did exist. Besides, he was convinced
that the illusions were the result of his subconscious
thoughts of the mummy. If the doctor was to be of
any help he would have to know all the details.

Doctor Gale listened attentively as Hargraves,
flushing a bit, gave his account of the events of the
night. Then the physician burst into a roar of laugh¬
ter and slapped his caller on the back.

“Gad!” he cried, “you are a lucky dog. Why,
damme, I’d be pleased as Punch to have that sort of
visions. And you wish to be rid of them—you beg¬
gar ! Tut, tut, Hargraves! ’ ’

Hargraves flushed angrily. “I tell you there wasn’t
any girl,” he insisted. “I just thought—”

“That you touched her, eh?” the other interrupted.
“Why didn’t you prove her unreality by going a bit
further? Why didn’t you try to kiss her? I should
have done so.”

Hargraves rose. “I came to consult you as my phy¬
sician,” he said in frigid tones. “I consider your levity
and your remarks very unseemly. I shall—”

“No, you won’t!” declared the doctor, pushing the
other back into his chair. “Either you’re a damn fool
or else your nerves are in rotten shape, and I intend
to learn which it is. Now, let me see. You purchase
a mummy-case which presumably contains the mum¬
my of an Egyptian beauty whose likeness is depicted
upon the lid. Upon opening the case you notice a
distinctive odor. My dear sir, all joking aside, the
rest follows as a natural sequence.

“The cat—the symbol of femininity—merely served
as the impetus to set in motion your psychological im¬
pressions. In other words your—well, I should deem
them pleasurable—visions, were nothing more than
waking dreams. Just as a slight noise acting upon
a sleeping mind may cause vivid dreams of explosions,
so the presence of a lithe and handsome cat, acting
on your subconscious mind, created the vision of a
woman in your mind.

“It’s very simple, very simple indeed, and nothing

THE MUMMY OF RET-SEH

75

to worry about. Still it may occur again and again
unless you have a care. I’ll give you a nerve tonic,
but I advise you to take a trip—to Bermuda, Madeira
—anywhere so you’ll have plenty of out of door exer¬
cise and fresh air and change of scene. And don’t
fool about with mummies or other junk, or play with
stray cats.”

Hargraves felt vastly relieved. The doctor’s diag¬
nosis had fully confirmed his own conclusions.

“I believe I will run off for a while,” he said as he
prepared to leave. “I had planned to unwrap the
mummy; but perhaps I’d better wait until I return.”

“By all means,” the other told him.

Although Hargraves had every intention of obey¬
ing his physician’s orders to the letter, yet as he left
the doctor’s office, his mind was more on mummies
than on travels, and almost unconsciously he found
himself parking his car before the archaeological mu¬
seum.

T)ROFESSOR BLACKETT, who was busy poring

over some Assyrian tablets, greeted Hargraves cor¬
dially, and he smiled indulgently as his visitor began
to tell him about the latest addition to his collection.
He knew these amateurs and how enthusiastic they
became over trifles. But when the other described
the mummy case, the scientist straightened up, in¬
stantly all attention.

“Let me have that again,” he said when Hargraves
had told about the figure on the lid. “You say the
woman is scantily clad. What are the predominating
colors, or didn’t you notice? Are there any symbols—
hieroglyphs?”

“Aside from the coloring of the skin, I should say
there is little but red and green with a good deal of
gold,” Hargraves told him. “Yet, now I recall it,
there is some black. Yes, there are characters, but of
course they meant nothing to me.”

Professor Blackett rose. “Would you recognize
them if you saw them?” he asked as he searched
among a stack of pamphlets.

“I’m positive I would—that is, some of them,” the
other declared.

The archaeologist selected a paper-covered volume,
and opening it ran quickly through the pages until
he came to a plate covered with engravings of Egyp¬
tian symbols. “See any of them there?” he asked.

Hargraves studied the figures intently. “Y T es, there’s
one!” he exclaimed. “Here’s another, and there are
three more. I—”

“How about this?” the Egyptologist asked, turn¬
ing to the frontispiece of the volume.

Hargraves almost jumped from his chair. “But—
but—Good Lord! Why that’s a picture of my mum¬
my case!” he cried.

Professor Blackett smiled as he closed the book.
“My dear sir let me be the first to congratulate you,”
he exclaimed. “Unless I am greatly in error, or un¬
less your mummy case is a rank imitation, you are
the possessor of the lost mummy of Ret-Seh.”

“What!” gasped the other. “You mean you know
who—what— What the deuce do you mean by a
‘lost’ mummy?”

The professor leaned back in his chair and placed
the tips of his fingers together. “All Egyptologists
know of the mummy of Ret-Seh,” he replied. “It is
one of the famous mummies of the archaeological
world. It vanished most mysteriously from the col¬
lection of Professor Buenaventura of Milan. Stolen,
undoubtedly, for the owner was found murdered—
strangled—in his museum.”

“Why on earth should anyone wish to steal a mum¬
my and commit murder to do so?” Hargraves wanted
to know.

“Collectors have been known to commit murder—
or cause murder to be done—for much less than the
mummy of Ret-Seh—for such trifles as books or pic¬
tures,” the professor reminded him. “And this mum¬
my was—or rather is—unique. As far as known it
is the only mummy of a Pharaoh’s favorite concubine
whose identity positively has been established, and
who is portrayed in the seductive attire in which she
was wont to appear before her royal lover. More¬
over, strange as it may seem, the body never had been
unwrapped. Remarkable that! Buenaventura—who
was the author of the monograph I showed you—had
invited a number of Egyptologists to be present at
the unwrapping of the mummy. But he was killed
and the mummy case with its contents was stolen on
the night preceding the appointed date.

“From that day to this, no one ever has seen or
heard of the specimen. And as you state that the
contents appear intact, it is obvious that no one ever
has unwrapped the mummy. So you see, my dear sir,
that you not only possess a very rare and famous
mummy, but also one of which little—I might say al¬
most nothing—is known. Unwrapping your mummy
may reveal most unexpected results. Of course you
will unwrap it? And if you will permit me to be
present, to assist you, I shall be most deeply grateful.”

Hargraves was deeply impressed by the other’s
words, and while Professor Blackett had been speak¬
ing he had been tempted to relate the story of the
strange hallucinations of the preceding night. But
Blackett was a hard-headed, practical, matter-of-fact
scientist; and somehow Hargraves didn’t relish the
idea of broadcasting the fact that he was “seeing
things.” So he said nothing.

But the idea of unwrapping the mummy of the royal
concubine was, somehow, rather repellent.

“Really, I hadn’t thought much about that,” he
said, referring to the other’s query. “But if you wash
to do it—I presume it is important from a scientific
standpoint—why, you’re welcome to the job. It
doesn’t appeal to me. And if you do unwrap it, you’ll
do so here in the museum, if you don't mind. You
see—Well, to tell the truth, a dead body is a dead
body, after all. And, er, really, the case is all that
interests me. You’re welcome to the contents—gift
to the museum, you know. But—” as a new idea oc-

FANTASTIC ADVENTURES

Concealing himself, he
waited until she appeared
as a cat, then set upon her
and killed her.

curred to him—“if the thing was stolen I have no matter rest as it was until he returned from his trip,
right to it. Shouldn’t it be returned to its rightful

owners?” T>EMEMBERING Doctor Gale’s admonition to

The scientist smiled. “Who are the owners?” he forget mummies and cats, Hargraves resolutely

asked. “Regardless of how Buenaventura obtained put aside thoughts of all such matters and spent the
it, it was unquestionably stolen—rifled—from its day playing golf. Then he dined at his club, passed
tomb. As far as I am aware he had no heirs. No, I the evening at a revue and drove home tired, sleepy
don’t think the ethics of ownership need trouble you. and with all thoughts of the mummy completely driven
And I shall be all impatience to remove the wrappings, from his mind. He had intended to go directly to bed.
I’d go with you now and get the specimen were it not But there were some documents which his lawyers
that I have an appointment to meet Doctor Rumford required, and fearing he might forget them if he
who wishes my opinion on some truly wonderful jades waited until the next day, he decided to sign them
he secured from a Persian tomb. But I’ll be over to and have them ready to post in the morning,
your place in the morning. And accept my heartiest With this matter in mind he entered his study, and
thanks—on behalf of the museum—for the gift.” halted in his tracks, staring into the darkness. Glow-

Hargraves felt rather relieved at thought of being ing like living coals in the blackness were two points
rid of the mummy. Funny, he’d been so keen on hav- of yellow fire. Two gleaming luminous eyes!
ing a mummy, and now he had one—and a most valu- For an instant a strange indefinable dread held him
able one at that—he didn’t want it and was more than in its grip. Then he laughed. “That damned cat
willing to give it away. In fact he was tempted to again!” he exclaimed as he snapped on the switch,

increase his donation to the museum by including the As sudden light flooded the room, the cat leaped

case together with its contents. After all, he mused, from the lounge, and with a startled “meow,” dashed
it was the case and not the mummy that had caused across the floor through the heavy curtain that cov-

his hallucinations. And if the case remained in his ered the door leading to the museum room,

home weren’t such illusions liable to recur? Of course “No, you don’t!” cried Hargraves, springing after
he would rid himself of that confounded cat—pro- the creature. “This time you go out and stay out.

vided Mrs. Stebbins hadn’t found her and put her I’ve—”

out. But even so—Well, perhaps he’d better let the The words froze on his lips. He staggered back,

THE MUMMY OF RET-SEH

77

gasping, stunned, cold with terror. For, beside the
now open mummy case stood the erect form of a
woman, one bare arm resting on its edge!

npO Hargraves’ fear-stricken eyes she seemed the
figure on the mummy case come to life. There was
no mistaking her. The face, with those seductive
tawny eyes were the same. The perfect, alluring form,
revealed in all its lithe symmetry and beauty by the
transparent garments, even the semi-barbaric jewelry,
were identical. She was the same mysterious, un¬
canny, ghostly being whom he had seen upon the
lounge, whom he had seen and touched-—a shudder
went over him at the memory—upon his bed. And—
so inexplicable are the workings of the human brain—
even in his stark, brain-paralyzing terror, he noticed
that among the pendants attached to her golden col¬
lar—pendants in the form of cats’ heads—there was
one missing!

Also, he was aware of that same overpowering,
sweetish, pungent perfume, which, each time, had ac¬
companied the apparition.

But now he knew she was not an apparition, not
an illusion nor a trick of his eyes or brain. He felt
she was as real, as solid, as much flesh and blood as
himself, and therefore the more terrible, the more
supernatural.

Hargraves, standing rooted there, white, shivering
with nameless dread, could not have said why he was
so abjectedly terrified. The vision was very lovely.
She was almost too beautiful, too perfect to be human.
Her lips were parted in an alluring, provocative smile,
her amber-colored eyes under the long lashes fairly
beckoned. But her very beauty and seductiveness
held an intangible warning of deadly peril and created
the instinctive horror that one feels when gazing at a
handsome, sinuous but venomous serpent. Emanat¬
ing from her, surrounding her like an invisible aura,
was an atmosphere of unholy and supernatural devil¬
ishness that was more terrible and sinister than any¬
thing tangible could have been.

For several seconds she stood motionless, her half-
closed eyes gazing at Hargraves who, powerless to
move, transfixed, incapable of uttering a sound, stared
back at her as if under a hypnotic spell. Then, slowly
raising her arms and extending her hands, she glided
noiselessly toward him!

The unutterable horror that he had before felt was
nothing to the paralyzing fear that gripped him now.
He felt riveted to the floor, frozen to the spot, while
slowly, with outstretched arms, with parted lips and
ardent eyes the hellish being, the diabolically beau¬
tiful woman who was not of earth but had arisen
from the grave, approached him. He was held as if
by some fiendish spell, incapable of escaping, inca¬
pable of crying out.

The cloying odor of her perfume was overpowering
him, drugging him. His head reeled, he felt as if he
must be going mad. A moment more and she would
be within reach. Her hands were almost touching

him. He could see the rise and fall of her full volup¬
tuous breasts. He could feel her hot breath. Her
eyes were looking into his, searing his brain. Then
her arms encircled his neck and he felt the pressure
of her vivid passionate body against his own. Her
parted lips were upturned, seeking—

At the touch of her flesh, stark horror swept over
him. Her skin was cold, clammy—the skin of a
corpse!

The contact galvanized him into life. He screamed,
he struggled and tore madly at those awful arms
clasped about his neck.

And then—Oh God!—His hands closed upon dry
bones! Skeleton fingers were gripping him, digging
into his flesh. Grinning into his face was a hideous,
ghastly, eyeless skull!

Mouthing, shrieking like a maniac, he struck out
viciously, madly. His fists crashed hollowly against
skeletal ribs. The hideous arms fell from his neck.
Reeling away from him, he saw a shrunken, desiccated
mummified body!

A strange unearthly banshee-like wail rang in his
ears. The world went black before his eyes. He stag¬
gered, swayed and fell unconscious to the floor.

CHAPTER III

Professor Blackett’s Discovery

TTARGRAVES came to his senses with a violent
start. He felt weak and shaken, and as memory
returned his teeth chattered and he shivered with icy
chills. Dreading what he might see he opened his
eyes and stifled the scream that rose to his lips. The
woman bending over him was not that ghastly ap¬
parition, but Mrs. Stebbins.

“Thanks be to God!” she exclaimed as she saw he
had regained consciousness. “Take this, sir,” she
lifted his head and placed a glass of brandy to his
lips. “I was just about to call for the police or the
ambulance,” she informed him. “Lord save us, what¬
ever did happen, Mr. Hargraves? I came in to tidy
up and found you in a dead swoon on the floor, and
a beastly great cat settin’ here beside you. How she
got in I don’t know—what with all the doors locked
and the windows screened. And if you’ll pardon me
for saying so, sir, I’d say, if I didn’t know you was a
respectable bachelor, and a gentleman if ever there
was one, that there’d been a woman in this house.
Maybe the cat slipped in along with her. And no
good woman at that, sir, judging by the perfume I
smelled—strong enough td have knocked me down,
it was. But, thanks to God, you’re out from your
swoon and all right again now, sir. And no harm
done, whatever the strange goings on may have been—•
Which is no business of mine of course. But—”

The ringing of the door bell interrupted her volu¬
bility.

“If that is Professor Blackett have him come in,”

78

FANTASTIC ADVENTURES

Hargraves told her as he sat up and glanced furtively
about. “And kindly leave us to ourselves, Mrs. Steb-
bins,” he called after her as she hurried off. “I’m all
right now. Attack of indigestion, I expect. Sorry I
frightened you.”

“Why, why! Whatever is the matter?” cried the
Egyptologist as he entered the study. “Upon my word.
Hargraves, you look really ill. You’re as white as if
you had seen a ghost.”

A shudder swept over Hargraves. With an effort
he controled himself and looked steadily at the scien¬
tist. “I have,” he said.

“What? What’s that?” the other exclaimed. “You
—you’ve—”

“Seen a ghost,” Hargraves declared. “I’m serious.
Professor I’m going to tell you something that will
appear preposterous to you, a scientist. You may
think I’m insane—I shall not blame you if you do.
But I assure you I’m as sane as anyone, as yourself
for example. Neither am I what you might call a
drinking man. Doctor Gale says it’s nerves—illu¬
sions. I know it is not.”

“But my dear man, whatever are you driving at?”
cried the other.

“That’s what I’m about to tell you,” replied Har¬
graves.

Professor Blackett listened silently to the story of
his friend’s weird, horrible, inexplicable experiences.

“Now what is your honest opinion?” Hargraves
asked him when he had told everything.

“It’s absolutely astounding!” replied the Egyptol¬
ogist. “But I agree with your physician. You have
been subject to strange—to most distressing and un¬
pleasant hallucinations. Such illusions—”

“Do illusions leave scratches and marks like these?”
demanded Hargraves showing Professor Blackett the
back of his neck.

“No,” admitted the scientist, “but a cat’s claws
might.”

“How about this?” As he spoke Hargraves handed
Blackett the golden cat’s head he had found on the
lounge. “That’s no hallucination,” he added.

The Egyptologist examined it carefully. “Hmm,”
he muttered. “It appears to be genuine. But it might
have been on the cat’s collar as you surmised. As a
scientist I do not, will not admit the possibility of
anything occult or supernatural. You asked for my
candid opinion. It is precisely that of your doctor.
You need a change of scene and should give your mind
a complete rest.”

“I intend to do so,” Hargraves assured him. “I’m
leaving for California tonight. About that damnable
mummy. You’re welcome to the whole show—case
and all.”

Professor Blackett fairly beamed with delight.
“Really, I cannot find words to express my—the mu¬
seum’s gratitude,” he exclaimed.

“Don’t bother to try,” said Hargraves. “Only get
the damned thing out of here. I never want to see it
or hear of it again. And if you find that beastly cat
drown her, shoot her, chloroform her—anything to
make sure she’ll never come back.”

/^\NCE more in his office at the museum, with the
precious mummy case safe within the walls of the
institution, Professor Blackett searched among his
books until he found the one he sought. Running his
eyes over the index he turned to a page bearing the
heading: “RET-SEH.”

“The favorite concubine of Ptonomah II,” he read.
“Famed for her great beauty and as a sorceress. It
is related that by means of her magic she could trans¬
form herself into a cat. Thus disguised she would pass
boldly through the royal chambers and from the pal¬
ace and would meet her lovers whom she wotdd seduce
by appearing to them in her natural form.”

“Hmm, an all-around bad egg, I should say,” com¬
mented the scientist as he turned the page.

“It is further recorded,” he read on, “that her in¬
fidelity having been discovered by the king, he deter¬
mined to put her to death. But bewitched by her
charms and beauty, he found it impossible to destroy
her while in human form. So, concealing himself, he
waited until she appeared as a cat, whereupon he fell
upon her and killed her.”

Professor Blackett closed the volume. “Astound¬
ing!” he muttered as he replaced the book on its shelf.
“A remarkable coincidence, but of course merely a
coincidence—nothing more. Strange though, very
strange! I think it is just as well that I did not men¬
tion that silly old legend to Hargraves.”

Neither did he ever tell Hargraves that when the
mummy case was opened and the wrappings were re¬
moved, it was found to contain a most perfectly pre¬
served mummy of—a huge tortoise shell cat!

ANNOUNCEMENT

Beginning with the April issue of FANTASTIC
ADVENTURES’ sister magazine AMAZING STOR¬
IES, we instituted a new prize award for the best story
in each issue, to continue indefinitely. So popular has
this new award become, and so keen the voting on the
leading stories, we have decided to inaugurate the
same feature in FANTASTIC ADVENTURES. So,
beginning with our next issue, we will pay to the

author of the leading story in each issue, as deter¬
mined by reader reaction, a prize of $75.00, and to
the author of the second ranking story, a prize of
$25.00. In other words, $100.00 additional, each
month, to our authors, at the command of the reader!
Here’s your chance to reward your favorite author,
and at the same time, urge him on to even finer work
in the future. —The Editors.

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FANTASTIC ADVENTURES

79

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81

By

3Q&1RIL

CHAPTER I
Dr. Gregory’s Hospital

‘ ( '*r TT 7" HAT a job I picked out!” Dr. Frank

\/\/ Robeson was talking to himself grumpily.

™ * A crudely stenciled sign on the main
highway had said “Gregory Pines Sanitarium . . .
two miles.” Frank had followed the tortuous wind¬
ings of the steep and narrow side road for more than
twice that distance.

Abruptly his roadster nosed out into a clearing.

“For crying out loud!” Frank whispered to himself,
“where am I?”

Across this clearing he was in, there was the en¬
trance to a rocky gorge
that cut into the sharply
rising slope ahead.

Frank shifted gear
and clung to the wheel
as his protesting car
bumped into the shadows.

Something devilish was killing
his patients and Frank Robeson came to
Gregory Pines to track down the mystery

Here the going was even worse. The dry floor of
the canyon was strewn with boulders and loose rock.
The ravine twisted as had the road through the woods.
Suddenly from around one of its contours came a roar¬
ing, clattering Juggernaut. A hoarse shout, the screech
of brakes. Frank wrenched his wheel, swerving the
roadster to the wall of the canyon. Too late. A ca¬
reening flivver struck his car with a sickening grind of
fenders, caromed off and rolled over. At once it burst
into flames.

In swift fear for the driver of the other car, Frank
stumbled toward the blazing wreck. His assistance
was not needed—or wanted. A cadaverous, thick-
spectacled individual in
soiled dungarees crawled
from the heap and made
off down the ravine with¬
out a backward glance.

“Hi, there!” Frank
sang out. “Are you hurt?”

Leaping among the thrashing tentacles, Robeson plunged the hypodermic deep

82

FANTASTIC ADVENTURES

The st ranger wheeled jerkily, his
row chalky features contorted with an
emotion which might have been either
fear or rage. “Lemme be!” he snarled.

“If I was you I’d be gettin’ along outa here before this
gas tank blows up.”

He turned and shambled away until lost to view
around a bend. Amazed and angered, Frank stared
after him. But he heeded the advice of the churlish
yokel and returned speedily to his own car.

Ruefully he surveyed its damaged side. But the
motor purred softly when he depressed the starter
pedal, and his roadster lurched forward with its usual
vigor. The running gear, fortunately, was undamaged.

Soon there echoed through the canyon the rumbling
detonation which told him that fire had reached the
gasoline tank of the wrecked car.

“And that,” grinned Frank Robeson, “is that.”

Then his grin froze to a grimace of horror. On the
hood of his own car was a blob of bloody, fleshy sub¬
stance. But it was not meat, either animal or human.
It was something infinitely more ghastly, tentacle-like,
translucent—evidently blown away from the explo¬
sion. Shuddering, Frank jumped to the ground and
wiped it from the metal with a greasy rag, then slid
back under the wheel and drove crazily toward his
destination.

His broad face again relaxed and a puzzled light
was in his steel-blue eyes when he came out of the
gorge and looked up at the rambling frame structure
that nestled amid the pines on the mountainside before
him. It was the institution he had come so far to
visit. An indefinable gloom lay over it—like a pall.

Pulling off at the side of the road, he regarded the
place thoughtfully. Nothing marked it as greatly dif¬
ferent from the many health resorts in the mountains.

The broad porch, the green shutters, the spacious
grounds with the inevitable croquet court, the arched
signboard—all were conventional. And yet . . .

tpRANK was probably the only staff member of
1 New York’s Park Medical Center who had enter¬
tained any doubts at all regarding Dr. Gregory’s hos¬
pital. And only recently at that. He had voiced his
suspicions to his old friend, Dr. Dudley Cowan, chief
of the surgical staff.

“Nonsense,” Cowan had said. “Frank, we’ve been
sending private patients to

up the wrong tree. We
can’t question Gregory’s trustworthiness.”

“All the same, I’m going to run up there to look the
place over,” Frank told him stubbornly. “Tomorrow.”

Frank had set out on the tiresome motor trip with
grim determination. Two of his patients had died at
Gregory Pines within six months. Of pernicious anae¬
mia, the death certificate read. Peculiar. But Greg¬
ory’s reputation was spotless; it would be folly to
question his diagnoses. And unethical.

At first Frank had been only puzzled. Later he had
sent Lemuel Curtis to the institution to recuperate
from a severe operative case of double mastoiditis.
Vague misgivings assailed him when Curtis left, but
he was utterly unprepared for the telephone message
that came from Curtis a few days later. Curtis was
a wealthy broker.

“The whisper of death is in the air here,” Curtis told
him over the wire. “I’m panicky, Doctor. I’ve lost
hope.”

“Keep a stiff upper lip. I’ll be up to sfee you.”

Frank Robeson was a man of his word. But now
that he was here he was not at all sure of himself. If
Lem Curtis died ...

He shivered. An uncanny silence was upon the place
of the wind in the pines. He remembered the fear-
husky voice of Curtis over the telephone. And he
even thought of that gory blob in the gorge.

Shaking off his feelings, he started his car. There
was but one thing to do. He’d make himself known
to Gregory and ask to see Curtis professionally. He’d
stay a few days and watch things.

The breeze whipped his shock of sandy hair into a

THE DEVIL FLOWER

83

tangle as the roadster labored up the steep drive. Grim you that the Galloway and Ingalls death certificates
lines were around his lips and his shoulders squared were falsified?”

aggressively. Seeing him thus, observers might have “That’s damned impertinence!” bellowed Gregory,
thought him a determined sportsman rather than one purpling. “I did not understand—do not—” He sub-
of the cleverest surgeons of the metropolis. Which sided glumly.

Frank was. “In other words you don’t know what is wrong with

Curtis?”

TV/fARTIN GREGORY was a genial if somewhat “Do you?” His bovine placidity returning, Greg-
pompous man in his early fifties. A Vandyke ory leered,
beard and owlish eyes gave him a professorial air. His “I only know his condition when he left New York,”
was the assured manner of one long used to deference. —stiffly. “It was satisfactory outside of the usual
He was a man satisfied with his own success. But his post-operative weakness.”

hand was flabby and moist in the hearty grip of his “Come, come, Doctor! ” Gregory arose, genial once
caller. more. “You and I are beating about the bush. We

Frank came to the point at once. “Any objection must admit that conditions seem to be odd. We’ll see
to my visiting Lemuel Curtis, Doctor?” he asked. Curtis immediately; then I’ll leave it to you to say who
“None at all.” Gregory was hesitant and his pudgy is at fault.”
fingers were tapping the desk top. “Curtis, I might Though unsatisfied, Frank assented. On the way
warn you, is not improving as we had expected.” he mused darkly.

“No?” Frank raised his left eyebrow in the discon- More than ever he was suspicious. Certainly no un-
certing way he had. “There has been no change in toward symptoms had marked any of these cases,
treatment, I presume?” Gregory’s nervousness, his most evasive replies, his

“None. You are at liberty to examine the patient’s sudden changes of front, were decidedly mysterious,
chart.” And there was that red thing on the hood of the car.

Still those thick fingers tapped the desk. Frank

thought that he saw an uneasy flicker in the other’s /"^URTIS, it developed, was quartered in a private
eyes. cabin some little way from the main building.

“Gregory,” he blurted, “you’re holding something The path through the pines led past a low rambling
back.” structure which Gregory explained was his experimen-

The older man flushed, then paled. “I resent that, tal laboratory. He did not dwell on the subject fur-
Doctor,” he spluttered. “What do you mean?” ther, seeming most reluctant to do so, and that served

“I’ll reply with another question. Does Curtis have to arouse Frank’s suspicions still more,
symptoms resembling those of Galloway and Ingalls “Biological?” he asked, striving to speak pleasantly,
before their deaths?” “Partly so,” Gregory implied by his air that it was

“A-ah!” Gregory rose angrily, then dropped into none of his visitor’s business,
his chair. “You’ve asked for it and I’ll tell you. Yes, But Frank had seen a skulking figure at the rear

the symptoms are the same—and you should know of the building. It was the gaunt and colorless indi-

them well.” He stared accusingly. vidual of the soiled dungarees.

“I!” Amazed, Frank returned the stare blankly. “Who’s that?” he demanded.

“Who else?” Gregory’s voice dropped suggestively “Rufus Ballinger. Sort of helps me in the labora-
and his eyes were shifty. “It had struck me that your tory. Expert botanist.” Gregory hurried along the

last three patients arrived in quite different condition path, obviously wishing to avoid the neighborhood of

from that reported by you. Why did you send them, the laboratory.

Doctor Robeson?” Frank cudgeled his memory. Ballinger’s name was

Frank had caught a Tartar. The older man had familiar but most elusive. Somehow, somewhere he

turned the tables adroitly and was regarding him from had heard of this man. And in an unsavory connec-

beneath lowered lids. What had been implied was tion, he felt sure. It would come to him later. He

plain enough. looked back, saw the thick-spectacled one bending

“You surprise me,” Frank replied slowly, checking over a most curious milky-stemmed plant that grew
his rising ire, “I’ve sent my patients to you in good waveringly from a pot he was removing from an open
faith and usually with excellent results. But Galloway hotbed.

and Ingalls died here. Curtis, you say, is in a condi- “Here’s where Curtis is,” said Gregory, indicating

tion similar to theirs. You infer that I know something a small green and white house with broad sleeping-

about it, that I knowingly sent you hopeless cases, porches and awninged windows.

This I deny, and I want your explanation.” It was a most attractive place, ideally located, and

Gregory smiled oilily. “Perhaps we’re talking at obviously of most modern design. Entering with his

cross purpose,” he offered, again placatingly. “I ad- host, Frank saw that it was arranged to take care of

mit these three cases puzzled me. Possibly I was two patients and had a well-appointed room for the

wrong in mistrusting you.” nurse between the two bedrooms. Only one bed was

“You were wrong,”—curtly. “Do I take it from (Continued on page 91)

FANTASTIC ADVENTURES

ARTHUR R. TOFTE

Author of

REVOLT OF THE ROBOTS

CINCE the miracle of
^ being bom is probably
the most important scien¬
tific as well as physical
feat in the story of every
man, I suppose I should
begin at that point.

Of course, as a future
writer of scientifiction
yarns, I should have
picked my birthplace
somewhere east of a chem¬
istry laboratory and north
of a test tube. I should
have chosen Thomas A.
Edison as my father and
Madame Curie as my
mother, with Albert Ein¬
stein as midwife.

I should have come into
being in a thermatically
controlled incubator and my first words should have been
haematocytotrypsis, philosophocracy, and choledocholith-
otomy. I should have developed rapidly and lectured at
the Sorbonne at the age of 22 months.

Instead of all this, however, I was bom in an old brown-
stoned apartment building on Chicago’s west side, some¬
where between Douglas and Humboldt Parks. The day
was Sunday, June 8, 1902. It was raining.

No one remembers what my first words were. And at
22 months I was still toddling around.

Growth followed at the usual pace, accompanied by the
ordinary pains and pangs that every kid has. In 1925, I
graduated from the University of Wisconsin, and imme¬
diately got an advertising job. I’ve been at it ever since,
with a succession of interesting jobs that have taken me to
New York, Newark, Cleveland, Chicago, Milwaukee, Den¬
ver, Los Angeles, and a lot of other cities in between.

Writing ad copy on bathroom scales, steam shovels, pat¬
ent medicines, exercising machines, motor trucks, kitchen
utensils, and just about everything else that people can be
induced into buying has given me a lot of fun and a fair
living in the past fourteen years (some bad periods during
the late depression).

My most interesting job was as advertising manager of
the Tom Thumb Miniature Golf company (remember ’way
back when?). This job actually took me to Europe where
I spent six months riding around on a bicycle.

At present I am copy chief in the advertising department

of Allis-Chalmers company, largest concern in Wisconsin.
By day I write about motors, pumps, milling and mining
machines, etc. By night and week-ends, I write scientific¬
tion stories about machines and people of the future.

It was my good fortune to know one of the greatest
science fiction writers of all times. As a member of the
Milwaukee Fictioneers, I was a close friend of Stanley
Weinbaum. In fact, it was his example and influence that
started my interest in this field.

It was while I was reading an article in one of the digest
magazines about queer and unusual wills and the part they
have played in history that I happened to get the idea for
REVOLT OF THE ROBOTS.

I got to wondering what kind of a will it would take to
affect the future of mankind. Almost any will affects the
future of the persons who are beneficiaries. But I won¬
dered what kind of a will it would take to affect the whole
of the human race. Needless to say with this for a start,
and the next thousand years or so of history to play with,
it was fun to spin the yam, and incidentally to get off my
chest some pet ideas on how I think the human race is
progressing. Each writer—and each reader for that matter
—has his own ideas of where mankind is headed. But a
thousand years from now—at the speed we are going—
who can really tell! Anyway it’s fun to guess.—Arthur R.
Tofte, Milwaukee, Wisconsin.

EANDO BINDER

Author of

THE INVISIBLE ROBINHOOD

HE man who discovered a method of true invisibility—
granting that premise—could do all the things I men¬
tioned in this story, and then some! Unseen, he could stalk
about like an invisible crusader, righting the wrongs that
most of us see, but none of us can do anything about.
Provided, of course, that he has the necessary courage and
intellect to see his way through.

I didn’t think it important in the story to explain just
how he carried out the inescapable duties of eating, sleep¬
ing, etc. without detection. But it’s simple enough. With
his invisibility suit off and stored in a suitcase, he rents
quarters to live in. When he goes out for one of his ex¬
ploits, he wears the suit, leaving his quarters as an invis¬
ible man. This might at times involve opening doors when
people are looking, but before they would have the wits to
investigate, he’d be gone. After his exploit, back to his
rooms to take the suit off. Then out to eat, as one of
millions of others.

At times, on the streets or elsewhere, he’d be unavoid¬
ably bumped by people. They’d be mystified, or perhaps
frightened, but even if they had the nerve to try to grab
him, or any reasonable reason for trying it, he’d have the

Arthur R. Tofte

FANTASTIC ADVENTURES

65

jump on them. By dint of agility and timing, he’d be able
to ride subways, streetcars, etc., picking uncrowded hours.
Of course, it’s simpler than that, with Ted Marne as his
confederate. Ted Marne drives him anywhere in his car.

Those details by the board, he could carry out his ex¬
ploits as described. Given publicity, he could quickly be¬
come an A-l bogey-man to criminal interests. Not to men¬
tion the shivers and chills he’d cause in sensitive minds of
all walks of life. If, after reading the story, you flick your
eyes about the room surreptitiously, thinking of the invis¬
ible man who might be at your elbow! I!—Eando Binder,
New York, N. Y.

FREDERIC ARNOLD KUMMER, JR.

Author of

ADVENTURE IN LEMURIA

RANKLY, I don’t see why anyone should be interested
in me personally. ... I’m quite an uninteresting per¬
son. Perhaps my mundane existence accounts for my writ¬
ing of colorful fantastic lands, brave adventures, and bi¬
zarre characters. None the less, your editors have re¬
quested the awful truth so here it is.

I am a somewhat rubicund person, aged 25 (26 by the
time this sees print) and a native of Baltimore, Maryland.
I live on a quiet, shady old street and work eight hours a
day in a third floor studio. My relaxations include bridge,
chess, table-tennis, and dogs . . . with trout fishing, surf
casting, and trolling in season. Apart from being a disciple
of Isaac Walton, I am not much of a sportsman.

Among other things I’ve studied art, clerked in offices,
and painted scenery for local productions. Writing is now
my sole means of support, unless one takes into account
consistent good luck at the race track. I’m unmarried, live
with my parents, and hope someday to be as famous an
author as my well-known father.

I want to say that I consider it quite an honor to be in¬
cluded in the list of contributors for FANTASTIC AD¬
VENTURES’ first issue. I have written for about every
type of market imaginable, but only recently have I turned
to the more imaginative fields. But after all, it is only a
step from science-fiction to the fantasy magazines.

As to ADVENTURE IN LEMURIA . . . well, I have
always believed in such a continent and have read with in¬
terest Colonel Churchward’s admirable books on the sub¬
ject. Also, I was a great admirer of the late Robert How¬
ard’s “Conan” and “King Kull” stories and hoped someday
to write similar yarns. In ADVENTURE IN LEMURIA,
I have tried, however, to avoid actual magic and witch¬
craft, preferring natural explanations of strange occurrences,
as, for instance, self-hypnotism, the escape of natural gases
from fissures in rock, and so on. I have also done consid¬
erable research on the subject. Thus, Khor the Cretan’s
peculiar tactics in overcoming the wild bulls are authenti¬
cated by murals unearthed at Minos on Crete, while inci¬
dentals such as weapons, customs, modes of dress, etc. are
whenever possible, based upon archaelogical findings.

I hope you’ll like Khor as much as I do. He’s a pet
character of mine and I’d enjoy writing more stories about
his travels in the land of Mu. If you, the readers, agree,
just drop a line to our editors and the stories will be forth¬
coming. And let me take this opportunity to extend my
wishes for a long life and all success to FANTASTIC AD¬
VENTURES.—Frederic Arnold Kummer, Jr., Baltimore,
Md.

ROSS ROCKLYNNE

Author of

THE EMPRESS OF MARS

WAS born Feb. 21, 1913. I was like other boys—I

played cops and robbers. And Charles R. Tanner tells
me that I still have that simple, cops and robbers person¬
ality—as evidenced by my Colbie-Deverel stories. But I
don’t believe a word of it.

Move upward twelve years from 1913, then, and you see
me entering boys’ boarding school, staying there five years,
gleaning from this establishment nothing that would have
made me any worse than I am now. Along about this
period, I was reading Tom Swift, the Rover Boys, the
Bible, etc., and, being too impressionable, I took the morals
in these stories too seriously, and frowned down upon smok¬
ing, drinking, breaking rules, talking back to mother, ne¬
glecting one’s duty to one’s country, etc. Fortunately, I
have learned better now, and try to place everything in its
true aspect—I try not to be too deadly serious about any¬
thing. But I still have trouble confusing fiction with real
life.

So that’s all about me in the years gone by, save that
I did some stuff for a high school monthly, batting out
stories and even jokes, would you believe it. I’ve done some
traveling around in this immediate neighborhood, Indian¬
apolis, Clarksburg, Detroit, and down around Kentucky.
But I’d like to travel. I’d like to go to the World Science
Fiction Convention.

I’m interested in most of the sciences, but have only a
more or less complete knowledge of physics, because all
the laws seem to hang so closely together. I like fantasy,
of which science-fiction is apparently a branch. I like Erie
Stanley Gardner. I read all the fantasy magazines I can.

My ambitions run toward five hundred thousand dol¬
lars, with which I shall give many people I know a chance
to do what they’ve always wanted to do, and no buts
about it.

So here I am, still in the middle of my story, for I’m
only twenty-five years old. The story goes on, and will
continue on, and every once in awhile you’ll run across
another of my stories, and I hope (vainly) that you’ll like
them all. But here’s a quotation that applies to me, to the
human race, and also to George Bernard Shaw who orig¬
inated it: “I’m doing the best I can at my age.”—Ross
Rocklynne, Cincinnati, Ohio.

A. HYATT VERRILL

Author of

THE MUMMY OF RET-SEH

OR nearly fifty years A. Hyatt Verrill, author, illus¬
trator, explorer and scientist, has led expeditions into
the tropical regions of South and Central America and the
West Indies in search of varied knowledge in a dozen fields
of study.

He was scarcely seventeen when he made his first trip to
the island of Dominica (B.W.I.), to secure collection of
Natural History, and since then he has visited practically
all of the remote regions of Latin America.

He has tramped the unknown jungles of Darien and the
so-called “forbidden” district of the Kuna Indians. For
five years he followed the jungle creeks and jungle trails of
British Guiana, visiting every tribe within this area, study¬
ing their customs, dialects and habits and collecting speci-

FANTASTIC ADVENTURES

mens of their artifacts, weapons and utensils. In Panama
he discovered the remains of an unknown prehistoric cul¬
ture and carried on extensive excavations, securing more
than 20,000 specimens. In the jungles of Santo Domingo
(Hispaniola) he searched for and secured specimens of a
supposedly extinct “missing link” among the mammal,
Solenodon paradoxus.

For more than six years he explored the deserts and An¬
des of Peru, Bolivia and Chile conducting archaeological
investigations and making collections of ancient pre-Incan
and Incan races.

He was made a blood-brother of the chief of the Carib
Indians in Guiana, he was adopted into the Guaymi tribe
of Panama and was made a “medicine-chief.” He was also
made a member of the Sioux tribe and given the name of
Tchanka Tanka or “Big(long) Road” because of his ex¬
tensive expeditions.

As a result of his scientific expeditions, many valuable
specimens of Natural History, ethnology and archaeology
have been added to various museums in the United States
and Europe.

In addition to his scientific researches he devoted several
years to making a complete series of oil paintings of South
and Central American Indians from life, most of which are
in the Museum of the American Indian in New York City.
Mr. Verrill is the author of more than 100 books on a great
variety of subjects and has contributed many articles and
stories to magazines in England and the United States. For
many years his stories were a regular feature of AMAZING
STORIES.

Mr. Verrill is a recognized authority on the South Amer¬
ican Indian, the prehistoric civilizations of Peru and Bo¬
livia and on lost and buried treasures. He has conducted
several treasure-seeking expeditions and in one of these
located and partly salvaged a sunken Spanish galleon in
the Caribbean Sea.

MAURICE DUCLOS

Author of

THE SLEEPING GODDESS

B ORN at Little Falls, Minnesota, in March, 1914. Moved
west at the ripe old age of three months. As you’ve
probably heard, there are no more Indians out here to fight
—so I’ve led a pretty prosaic life.

I first became aware of science fiction in 1927 when on a
short vacation. We were camped at the beach. It was the
day after Fourth of July, and things were still popping. I
stumbled upon a coverless magazine half buried in the sand,
and retired into the tent to do a little reading. It was a
strange magazine called AMAZING STORIES. Space
ships, strange creatures, and flights to Mars tumbled from
every page; I became absorbed—so absorbed that when I
finally looked up I found a hole about two feet in diameter
burning merrily in the side of the tent, ignited, no doubt,
by some vagrant firecracker.

My first literary efforts were made in the Los Angeles
General Hospital where I was laid up with infantile paraly¬
sis. First story I sold was the fifth one that blundered
from my pen.

My principal hobby is a workshop that boasts two metal¬
cutting lathes, diverse pieces of machinery, and a little

foundry for melting aluminum.

Where did I get the idea for The Sleeping Goddess?
Simple—from a bottle of water! Yes, a gallon jug half
filled with water gave me inspiration for this story. Moss
covered the inside bottom of the bottle, and gave off a con¬
stant stream of tiny bubbles. By bringing the jug close
to my eye and squinting, the moss seemed to stretch before
me like a vast rolling plane of green vegetation on which
great bubbles formed. I realized instantly that here was
material for a yarn. I enlarged the glass bottle to a huge
transparent wall miles in diameter; instead of water I filled
it with blue gas; then I put in the bubbles and a few other
abnormalities to add color. Mixed into this was a hero
and a savage race for conflict—the outcome was The Sleep¬
ing Goddess .—Maurice Duclos, Bell, California.

HARL VINCENT

Author of

THE DEVIL FLOWER

\ RATHER interesting experience lies behind my using
injections of phenol to destroy the living plant in The
Devil Flower. In 1919, I had occasion to conduct some
powerhouse tests at a large chemical plant in the State of
Massachusetts. The products of this plant were the acids,
muriatic, sulphuric, nitric, carbolic and, during the war,
picric acid. The powerhouse was immediately adjacent to
the sidings of the Shipping Department, where pure acids
were loaded into tank cars for shipment, gushing from over¬
head spouts directly into the steel tanks. Fumes arising
during this procedure, though quickly disseminated in the
outside air, drifted into the turbine room where I worked
for more than a week, with sufficient strength to corrode
badly all metal parts in the place.

All exposed parts of the machinery and the switchboards
were kept thoroughly greased for protection. Even my
pocket knife, keyring, and the buckles of my garters I
found in a day or two were attacked. My watch, I had
been warned to leave behind in my hotel room.

Seeing the workmen throughout the plant nonchalantly
exposing themselves to acids and fumes, I inquired as to
which of the various acids was most dangerous to handle.
It surprised me when the Chief Engineer of the plant named
carbolic, as I was certain the others were far more powerful
in their effect. But carbolic acid, it seems, is rapidly ab¬
sorbed by the skin, enters the blood stream and is conveyed
quickly and with fatal effect to the heart. I was told of a
then recent case where a workman had slipped and thrust
one leg accidentally into a tank of pure phenol, wetting it to
the knee. His foreman immediately cut away the trouser
leg and washed the skin thoroughly with the stream of a
high pressure water hose, telling his man then to run to
the dispensary, less than a hundred yards distant, to have
the leg swabbed off with ammonia. The workman sprinted
off into the night, this having happened on a late shift.

Next morning his body was found. He had covered not
more than one half the distance to the infirmary when the
deadly poison had stopped his heart, probably within two
or three minutes after the accident. This was a revelation
to me; I have never forgotten it.—Harl Vincent, New
York, N. Y.

87

\A/E present the following questions, problems, and brain
** teasers as a pleasant means of entertaining you, as
well as a means of testing your knowledge. Therefore you
will find some of them fantastic, some serious, some humor¬
ous, and some just plain twisters calculated to baffle you by
tricky means. If you can answer 70% of them, you can
consider yourself above the average in general knowledge
and intelligence and cleverness. Inasmuch as this feature
is your feature, you are cordially invited to submit your own
pet twisters and questions for the rest of the readers to
tackle.

CHANGE PLEASE

One of those unthinking persons who drive street-car
conductors crazy boarded a car and handed the conductor
a ten dollar bill. Muttering beneath his breath, the con¬
ductor produced all the money he had in his pockets, total¬
ing $14.19. But to his amazement he found that beyond
the impossibility of changing the ten dollar bill, he couldn’t
change a bill of any denomination, nor did he have change
for, a half-dollar, quarter, dime, or nickel. What bills and
change did the conductor have?

QUESTION BOX

1. What is electro culture?

2. How far away can an airplane be seen by the naked
eye, under favorable conditions?

3. Is there any living creature which sweats blood?

4. The Venus de Milo is considered by many authorities
of feminine beauty to be the perfect feminine form, and her
measurements have been used as a standard of comparison.
If you are a woman, would you like to be as tall as the
statue, or if you are a man, would you like your best girl to
possess that height?

5. What is the difference between the circles and the belts
of Saturn?

STAR DUST

1. Is the Earth traveling directly toward the star Vega,
and at what speed?

2. How fast is the solar system moving?

3. If a comet ever hits the earth, will it explode?

4. How many stars can be seen with the naked eye?

5. How long is a lunar year?

TRUE AND FALSE

1. A woodpecker pecks because he is signaling to birds

of the same species. True. False.

2. Amara-Kosha is Sultan of Hindustan. True.

False.

3. The Palace of Engineering is one foot higher on a

warm day than on a chilly night. True. False.

4. Italy and Japan have had 27,000 earthquakes each in

the past SO years. True. False.

5. Radium is extracted from uranium. True.

False.

6. Greek fire is the phosphorescent flame seen on the

masts of ships and on toll structures. True.False

7. Metallic potassium and metallic sodium will burst into
flame if water is poured upon them. True. False

8. The Roman toga was a large square piece of cloth,

draped over the shoulders. True. False..

9. The custom of kissing first came into being as an ex¬

pression of endearment between kinsmen and kinswomen.
True. False.

10. Australia is known as the shadeless land. True

. False.

11. The scarab, or beetle, was regarded in Egypt as a

symbol of immortality, and was therefore placed on mum¬
mies as a sign of resurrection. True. False.

12. “Clabber” is an Irish term meaning a babble of

voices. True. False.

13. “Bula Matari” was the native name of Stanley, the

explorer. True. False.

14. Fish never sleep. True. False.

15. Cork is obtained from the core of the cork oak.

True. False.

STRIKE OUT THE WORD THAT DOES NOT
CONFORM

1. Star, solar system, nebulae, galaxy, universe.

2. Prevalent, isolated, rare, sporadic, occasional.

3. Zenith, culmination, minimum, pinnacle, summit.

4. Inveterate, confirmed, chronic, inchoate, habitual.

5. Silver, gold, arsenic, xenon, platinum.

PROBLEM IN RHYME
If from my age there subtracted be—

One-sixth, one-half, and three times three,

I then, old enough to vote would be.

What is my age, can you tell me?

SCRAMBLED WORDS

1. A story based on advanced imagination. SYNTAAF

2. Something hard to figure out. OPBLRME

3. A method of cooking eggs. CODHEAP

4. Something singularly startling. ANGZMAI

5. The basis of all modern progress. NCICEES

CAN YOU WRITE A QUIZ PAGE?

This department will pay its regular manuscript ra
for clever FANTASTIC Quiz Pages. If you think you t
devise a quiz which will test the knowledge of your fellow
readers, and at the same time provide them with real e
tertainment, why not sit down and have a little fun, ai
earn yourself a little money while you are doing it?

Mail your quiz material to:

Quiz Department
FANTASTIC ADVENTURES

608 So. Dearborn Street,
Chicago, Illinois.

3 “One moment, a telecall for me. Major! That man is M “Behind that door—a man! Get that legend. Manager . . .

dying! And he’s screaming something—what’s wrong /B Atlantic Space Terminus. The Express just took off from

with this receiver? He isn’t coming through. Observe, there! Why doesn’t he enter? The door must be locked.

Major! We’ll need to remember every detail of this.” Remember him, he’ll be a very important witness!”

5 “What’s that peculiar smudge on his cheek—looks
like soot. He has a traveling bag. The man on the
floor is nearly done for. Something virulent there!
If that room is full of gas it’s dangerous to enter.”

6 “We’ve been cut off! How could that be? No one in
the room to turn off the televisor. This is odd! Someone
infinitely clever behind all this. Come on, Ackley, we’ve
got work to do. That looks like brutal murder to me!”

89

SC/EMT/F/C PiTECTMVE

“Heart failure, Dr. Jensen? But it might be possible that
a gas could cause death, and look like heart failure. I
know there was no trace of gas when we entered, and the
door was locked. But I saw him die, and he choked!”

“This key I found on the floor. Identical with the key
on the dead man. Both unlock the door. Both inside the
room. The door has a night latch. Clue here some¬
where. Ackley, bring your prisoner. I’ll question him.”

9 “You’re Milton Berge? You came in last night on a
freighter to ask Hammond, the dead man, for a job—
oh, a former partnerl Went to the Lunar penal colony
for five years for theft 1 Came to beg for reinstatement 1”

Jt “Sounds logical. And you were locked out. But that tele-

III v ' sor —somehow it went dead. It works perfectly now.

| fJP Both sound and vision. But when Hammond died, he was
screaming a message, and no sound came through .” 9

11

“This ventilator. Closed tight. Supposed to remove car¬
bon dioxide fumes from the take-off pit below. Should be
open at aB times! So that’s where the gas came from 1 The
Express took off at 5:30! Could a dead man close it?”

12

“Milton Berge, I arrest you for the murder of John Ham¬
mond! Even though Hammond failed in his attempt to
accuse you, you have trapped yourself 1” (If you haven’t
already solved this crime, see page 90 for solution.)

90

FANTASTIC ADVENTURES

QUIZ PAGE ANSWERS

(Quiz on Page 87)

CHANGE PLEASE

The conductor had one five-dollar bill, four two-dollar
bills, one half-dollar, one quarter, four dimes, and four
pennies.

QUESTION BOX

1. The Department of Agriculture uses this term to refer
to practices designed to increase the growth and yield of
crops through electrical treatment, such as maintenance of
an electrical charge on a network over the plants or an elec¬
tric current through the soil in which the plants are grow¬
ing.

2. An airplane can be seen with the naked eye under fa¬
vorable conditions from 10,000 to 15,000 feet in the air.

3. The hippopotamus sweats blood. The skin of this
animal contains a great quantity of an oily substance which
exudes from the pores, and under stress of excitement, this
substance flows out copiously and is tinctured with blood,
producing the bloody sweat for which the animal is famous.

4. Your answer should be no. The height of the famous
statue is 2 metres 38 millimetres. This is a trifle over 6
feet 3 inches, quite a bit over the usual feminine height.

5. The rings of Saturn are swarms of very small satellites X
revolving in orbits that are nearly circular and that lie in

the same plane. They are thought to be the shattered debris
of a former moon. The belts are on the surface of Saturn
itself, and are cloud formations, a purely atmospheric phen¬
omena.

STAR DUST

1. Our sun is traveling toward Vega, and therefore the
earth. But the earth’s motion is a curved one, composed of
the varied movements of the system, its rotation around the
sun, etc. The speed is about 12 miles per second.

2. Our solar system is progressing at a rate of 12 miles
per second toward a point in the constellation Hercules,
whose approximate right ascension is 270 degrees and de¬
clination 34 degrees north.

3. The mass of a comet is never large; and the material
is, for the most part, exceedingly tenuous. It is probable
that the earth, if struck by a comet, would witness nothing
more than a meteoric shower. The explosions, if any, would
be similar to those hitherto observed in the cases of large
meteorites.

4. Provided one stays at the same place, the number vis¬
ible from the United States would be about 4,000.

5. 354 days, 8 hours, 48 minutes and 34 seconds.

TRUE AND FALSE

1. False. He pecks for food, or to build a nest. It is
when he drums that he is calling for others of his species.

2. False. Amara-Kosha is a vocabulary of Sanskrit roots
compiled by the Sanskrit grammarian, Amara Sinha, about
375 A. D. It contains 10,000 words arranged in metre to
aid the memory.

3. True. Expansion causes this phenomenon.

4. True.

5. False. Radium is extracted from pitchblende, largely
uranium oxide.

6. False. Greek fire was an incendiary composition,
used by the Byzantine Greeks. It was supposed to have
been made of asphalt, saltpeter, and sulphur. It would
burn on and under water.

7. True.

8. False. It was a semi-circular piece of cloth.

9. False. Pliny says it was first used as a means of de¬
termining whether wives and daughters had tasted wine.

10. True. The leaves of some of the trees are so ar¬
ranged as to present their edges to the sky, others have
foliage composed of mere needles, and others dispense with
leaves altogether.

11. True.

12. False. Clabber is milk in the process of souring, and
means, literally, “thick mud.”

13. True.

14. True. They sometimes remain quiet in pools or
streams, but they never sleep.

15. False. It is obtained from the bark.

STRIKE OUT THE WORD THAT DOES NOT

CONFORM

1. Star.

2. Prevalent.

3. Minimum.

4. Inchoate.

5. Xenon.

PROBLEM IN RHYME
My age would be 90 years.

Let X = My present age
1/6 J/z

-9 = 21

X X

y 3 X - 9 = 21
y 3 X=21+9
y 3 x = 30

X = 90

SCRAMBLED WORDS

1. FANTASY

2. PROBLEM

3. POACHED

4. AMAZING

5. SCIENCE

THE SCIENTIFIC DETECTIVE

(Solution)

jV/TILTON BERGE, coming in last night on the freighter, must
*have remained in the building all night, because he still had his
traveling bag, and his professed errand was not intended travel, but
to plead for his old job. Thus, he lied. The smudge of dirt on his
face also indicates he had not faced a mirror all day. Certainly a
man seeking a job would be presentable. So, during the night,
having concealed himself in the building, he had altered dampers in
the ventilation pipes, so that fumes from the take-off of the Venus
Express could ascend to the office of John Hammond. Since the
odor of carbon dioxide is not noticeable, Hammond would be
unaware that death was pouring into his room until it was too late.

When Hammond realized what was happening, he found himself
locked in, with Berge staring vengefully in at him. Realizing he
was doomed, he attempted to get revenge by turning on the television
set and shouting an accusation of the murderer before he died. But
since sound does not carry in an atmosphere of carbon dioxide, his
voice did not register, and he died, his purpose unaccomplished.

Berge, knowing television demands bright lighting, knew all he
had to do was to snap off the lights, from the switch outside the
door, to conceal his movement into the room to shut off the deadly
vent and the television set while holding his breath. Then, retreating,
he could allow the room to clear by leaving the door open a moment.
This would be rapid, due to the efficiency of the ventilation of the
corridor. Then, closing the door, having set the lock and thrown
his own key on the floor inside, he could remain, an apparently
innocent spectator.

Only a man thoroughly familiar with the building could have
planned the murder so efficiently and carried it out.

FANTASTfC ADVENTURES

91

now occupied, and this by Lem- mistakable evidence of the
uel Curtis, who lay reclining on dread pernicious anaemia. The
his side with his paper-white daily increase in deficiency of
hands outside the covers. red corpuscles was indeed

“Glad to see you, Doc,” he alarming. He looked again at
greeted Frank in a weak voice, the chart and noted that the use
“Thought you’d never get of calves’ liver was properly re-
here.”* corded. Everything seemed to

In one swift glance Frank be in order,
noted that the mastoid band- “You haven’t considered
ages were tight and clean and blood transfusions?” he asked,
that they were tied in the ap- “Not as yet. As you know
proved manner. But his heart from your own experience, the
sank when he observed the latest practice does not encour-
wanness of his former patient’s age their use too much.” Greg-
countenance and the bloodless- ory smiled in his unctuous, in-
ness of his lips. It was unbe- sincere manner,
lievable that the man could have “Right. Well, I’ve seen

failed so much in the few days enough for the present, Doctor,
he had been here. Shall we return to your office?”

“Got to you as soon as I Frank was anxious to get where
could, old man,” Frank said he could read the note Curtis
cheerily. “And how goes it? had been so anxious to get to
Feeling better?” He had known him.

the young broker for a number “Yes, suppose we do.” The
of years, and counted him as an older physician was actually
intimate friend. beaming. This had turned out

“Pretty good for an old guy.” to be easier than he had antici-
Curtis essayed a smile but was pated. “And, Doctor, you’ll not
obviously trying to signal with be able to get away from the
his eyes. And his hand crept Pines tonight; suppose I assign
out over the covers unostenta- a room to you and have your
tiously. bags brought in. Perhaps you’d

“Would you like to see his like to remain a few days here
chart?” Gregory asked Frank yourself?”
amiably. “I had hoped to; in fact I

“If you don’t mind.” planned to—-if you agreed, of

As die older physician turned course. I like it here.”
to reach for the daily record, Gregory did not know quite
the nervous fingers of Lem Cur- how to take this, but he let it
tis twitched into view and pass. With his guest so affable,
crammed a folded paper into he could hardly do otherwise.
Frank’s fist. He covered it at “See you later, Lem.” Frank
once, then pocketed it. Curtis waved airily and followed his
grinned knowingly. host from the cabin.

/^REGORY was extending r ATER, in the seclusion of
^ the chart, but Frank gave his room, he puzzled over

it scant heed. It was only a the shakily penciled note,
tabulation of temperatures, res- “Something mighty queer
piration rates, feedings, and the here,” it read. “Nurse on duty
usual run-of-mine hospital in- a U day but not at night. Greg-
formation. ory visits late and gives me

“How about his blood tests, medicine that’s not reported on
blood counts?” Frank inquired, the chart. Dope , I think, be-
Reluctantly, Gregory brought cause I get so drowsy 1 just
them. Amazed, Frank saw un- have to pass out. Wake every

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morning weak as the devil—and
mentally depressed. That whis¬
per is still in the air. Do some¬
thing, Doc, or I’m a goner. I
KNOW it."

This called for thought, for
watching and waiting. The
note did not clarify things at
all. Frank determined, though,
that he'd see this through, re¬
gardless of professional ethics
or of consequences. He con¬
sidered several possibilities.
None seemed logical. This man
Ballinger might be involved;
possibly not. Gregory, on the
face of it all, seemed to be the
one to suspect. If Ballinger
were in on it, in what connec¬
tion could it be? Again the
surgeon racked his brain for
memory of that odd name. The
connection still eluded him.

If Gregory were administer¬
ing drugs to Curtis, why? What
could it have to do with the ap¬
parent anaemic condition? Of
course, there was the possibility
that Curtis was so greatly con¬
cerned over his own condition
that he was inclined to exagger¬
ate ordinary happenings in
his own mind. But something
was very much wrong here. He
would have to find out what it
was.

Late that afternoon he
strolled down toward the lab¬
oratory and, from a distance,
saw Gregory and Ballinger
stooping over one of the many
hotbeds outside. They were so
absorbed they did not notice his
coming.

Taking advantage of their
preoccupation, he circled the
building cautiously and se¬
creted himself behind a clump
of bushes within sight and ear¬
shot. Immediately the plant
those two were examining took
his entire attention. It was like
no growth Frank had ever seen,
having a mass of rubbery, vine¬
like branches that seemed al¬
ways to be in motion. Weirdly
so, as if actuated by some ex¬
ternal force. Yet there was no
sign of a breeze that might
have blown them about.

At the tips, the rubbery mem¬
bers were milky-white in hue
and nearly transparent, but
near the heavy main stem they~
shaded off into a deep pink hue.
As the doctor watched, the rosi¬
ness near the stem of the un¬
natural plant began to rise and
fall, much as if it were a liquid
boiling in a test tube. A sickly-
sweet odor assailed his nostrils
and his instant impression was
that it came from the growth.
Ballinger was lifting the pot
that held the vegetable incon¬
gruity and was removing it
from the hotbed.

“Careful, Rufe,” Gregory
cautioned.

His face was turned toward
the hiding-place and Frank saw
with a start that the older physi¬
cian’s eyes were fixed—staring
—as if he were in a trance.

“Lemme be!” snarled the un¬
couth Ballinger. “I know what
I’m doin’. This here’s the last
time this one comes outa here,
too.”

TT was quite incomprehensi¬
ble. Frank drew himself
into the smallest space possible
as the other two made for the
laboratory, Ballinger carrying
the potted monstrosity. The
door closed behind them. Frank
moved stealthily to one of the
windows, hoping to peer inside.
But he found it curtained so
heavily that nothing could be
seen. Disappointed, he returned
to the porch of the main build¬
ing.

Dusk came quickly and with
it came the return of Martin
Gregory, who dropped heavily
into a deck chair beside Frank.
His eyes looked better now but
there was still a deliberation in
his movements that bespoke
some sense-deadening influence.
The man must be a narcotic ad¬
dict. A strange place, Gregory
Pines. Robeson’s nerves chilled.

“Find your room satisfac¬
tory?’” Gregory drawled.

“First rate. Couldn’t be bet¬
ter. All the same I can’t seem
to get Curtis out of my mind-

THE DEVIL FLOWER

93

What is your honest opinion of
the case, Doctor?”

The older man’s eyes nar¬
rowed. No sign of drowsiness
or of a lethargic disinterest was
in them now. “It’s just as I
told you; you saw for yourself,
didn’t you? And you can ex¬
amine Curtis again in any way
and as often as you like. Per¬
haps you can help me in the
case.”

This last was said with a
knowing smirk.

Frank shifted his attack.
"Fond of your botanical re¬
search, aren’t you, Doctor?”

The change in the man was
startling. He purpled; cleared
his throat noisily. “You been
spying on me?” he demanded.

Frank raised his left eye¬
brow quizzically. “Would that
worry you?” he countered.

“Now you look here! ” Greg¬
ory sprang from his seat and his
pudgy fingers clasped and un¬
clasped in the sheer fury that
was within him. “I’ve been
more than courteous, allowing
you the run of my place and
Pve seen fit to put you up for
awhile and let you see this pa¬
tient of yours as often as you
please. But I warn you; keep
your meddling nose out of my
affairs or you’ll find yourself in
a peck of trouble.”

With this outburst he stalked
off, slamming the screen door
after him.

A FTER supper, Dr. Robe-*
son wandered through the
grounds aimlessly, still without
seeing Gregory or Ballinger.
Finally he decided to return to
his own room and await devel¬
opments, or at least to plan a
course of action. He had not
realized how physically tired
the day had made him and
dozed off in an easy-chair while
merely contemplating the
events which had led up to the
situation.

Awakening with a start, he
looked at his watch and saw
that it was well past the mid¬
night hour. Something told him

he should not retire at once; he
paced the floor for the better
part of a half-hour, then de¬
cided to get out in the open.
Perhaps it was only a hunch,
but he felt that he might learn
something of value by another
round of the premises.

All was quiet. There was no
moon, but enough of the light
of the stars was there to enable
him to make his way down the
path which led past the labora¬
tory to the cottage where Curtis
was housed. He was disap¬
pointed—no lights in the cabin.
About to return to his room, he
was stopped in his tracks by the
unmistakable sound from
within that marks a deeply
drugged man—a heavy shud¬
dering snore. Lem Curtis!
Frank stepped to the door of
the cabin, found it open and
walked in. It was a surprise to
find that his patient—and
friend—was in a stupor, from
which nothing could arouse him
at the moment. The nurse was
off duty, of course, and on the
spur of the moment Frank
ransacked her cabinet, obtained
the necessary materials and
with the aid of a hand flash
withdrew a generous sample of
Curtis’ blood. He observed a
fresh puncture almost at the
point where he himself needled.

The man did not stir or even
groan at the sharp stab; his face
was a ghastly mask in the light
of the flash. But Frank was all
professional now; his personal
feelings were put aside. He
snapped off the flash and tip¬
toed from the building, sprint¬
ing down the path toward the
laboratory. The grounds, seem¬
ingly, were deserted, the main
building dark excepting for the
dim lights of the corridors.

'C'RANK was no second-story

worker, nor had he the
slightest knowledge of or sym¬
pathy with the back-porch-
casement-opening burglar. But
he learned somehow the way to
get into Ballinger’s laboratory.
With the blood sample carefully

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FANTASTIC ADVENTURES

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protected in its tube, he cau¬
tiously felt his way to the bench
of the microscopes and with
only a single palm-shielded
flash from the electric hand
lamp found the switch of the
illuminator of one of the excel¬
lent instruments. This gave
him plenty of light without any
betraying glare. Quickly he
found a slide, stain and cover
glass, and prepared his speci¬
men.

He searched the brilliant field
of vision carefully. The smear
was a perfect one. The defi¬
ciency of red corpuscles was so
evident as to require no count.
But no microcytes, those min¬
ute elementary granules asso¬
ciated with anaemia, were pres¬
ent. Curtis was not an anae¬
mic. His blood was being
drained artificially from his
weakening body. That other
puncture meant that Gregory
had robbed him of his life fluid,
not infused it.

It came to Frank instantly,
this horrible thing, and
thoughts of Rufe’s squirmy and
rustling plant rushed in to show
the solution.

Rufus Ballinger was killing
men to satisfy his insane lust for
experimentation with plant life,
there could be no doubt of that.
He was endeavoring to produce
flora that was half fauna—
probably all fauna in his crazy
mind. Worse than this . . .

A whispering sound close at
hand startled Frank into some¬
thing like normalcy. He turned
his head in the direction from
which the eerie noise had come
and saw slimy pink tentacles
reaching over the window-sill
from outside. One of the plants
had gone berserk! The thing
was alive and it was gigantic!
Flowers, blood-red in hue, with
faces like crimson gargoyles,
budded and bloomed in a sec¬
ond of time, looked at him with
sinister gloating . . . advanced
with the speed of a pack of
stalking wolves.

Breath-takingly, a pungent

odor assailed his nostrils. The
lights of the laboratory flashed
on blindingly. Abruptly he
knew no more.

TX/ r HEN consciousness re-

r turned, slowly and pain¬
fully, Frank found himself flat
on his back in dewy grass.
Dawn was just breaking, as
evidenced by the paleness of the
eastern horizon. There were
sounds of men talking in low
monotone and he strained his
barely aroused senses to recall
what this was all about and his
ears to learn the meaning of the
muttered intensities of speech.
Suddenly, as if he had snapped
out from under an anaesthetic,
he remembered.

He sat up, stiffly—they had
not tied him. He had been
drugged; the odor of nitrous
oxide was strong in his nostrils.
What they had used to supple¬
ment that first whiff he did not
know, nor how they had man¬
aged to accomplish it. In the
semi-darkness he saw Gregory
and Ballinger working over one
of the hotbeds of the strange
plant growth.

“If I was you,” Rufe was
saying, “I’d put him outa the
way. Dead men don’t talk,
Martin, and he’d be easier’n the
others.”

“Come, come,” Gregory re¬
sponded slowly and with appar¬
ent difficulty in his speech.
“There are more important
things right at this time. Watch
what you are doing.”

Ballinger squealed shrilly—
like a rat, Frank thought. “The
damn thing nearly tore my hand
offa me,” he whined. “Why’d
we take that extra pint from
Curtis?”

Still in somewhat of a daze,
Frank reflected that there are
about thirteen pints of blood in
the average human body. That
even a professional blood donor
can hardly give up more than
about a quart every two weeks
and still remain robust. But
this!—these devils must have
been taking a pint a day from

THE DEVIL FLOWER

95

the young broker—an extra
pint tonight! No wonder the
external symptoms of anaemia
were manifest in Curtis! No
wonder those other lives had
been cut short.

Frank, his head clearing by
now, rolled over on his side and
saw that forms were taking
shape more distinctly in the
brightening dawn. He saw that
the two men were working over
one of the wriggly plants, that
it was more gigantic than any
he had before seen and infi¬
nitely more active. Its tendrils
whipped about like the arms of
an octopus, and Gregory was
quite terrified at the swift
movements of the horrid appen¬
dages, ducking and cowering
like a frightened schoolboy.

“Get yourself together, Doc,”
snarled Ballinger, and he struck
the older man's cheek with the
flat of his hand.

An incomprehensible thing
happened then. The plant, like
a faithful hound protecting its
master, struck out at the un¬
couth botanist.

The unfortunate man
screeched and fought horribly.
He was helpless in the clutches
of the thing he had created.

Frank forced himself from
his horrified helplessness.

“Gregory!” he yelled leaping
forward. “Watch out! The
damned thing will get you when
it’s finished with Ballinger.”

npHE botanist suddenly
A ceased struggling. The
plant, dripping red now, was
writhing its members about
Martin Gregory’s face and
neck. Gregory screamed like a
trapped and horribly injured
animal.

Tingling with artificial pa¬
ralysis as his hands were, Frank
felt in his pockets. Of course
he always carried his hypoder¬
mic kit with him. It was there.

Gregory now was only half
conscious. Frank loaded his
hypo with phenol—full to the
neck. He crawled toward the
dying man. The wriggling plant

had him almost completely
wrapped up in its tentacles.

He plunged the needle into
the heavy root-stem of the
thing. Its charge shot home.
A wildly thrashing tentacle
knocked him down. It coiled
about his neck, and stinging
pain shot through him. He
fought desperately to escape.

Gregory screamed again, ob¬
viously helpless again the octo-
pus-like thing which was en¬
gulfing him. Despair gripped
Robeson. The poison wasn’t
working. He choked as the ten¬
tacles tightened convulsively.

'T'HEN those blood-dripping
flowers shrivelled their
faces. The arms relaxed. With
a gasp of relief, Frank tore
away the dripping things with
suckers that stuck graspingly
and drew away his life-blood.

Ballinger was d e a d—his
body a waxy husk.

Lemuel Curtis now would be
no more molested. Gregory,
Frank realized, had been inno¬
cent. And Gregory would live.

Gregory, hypnotized by the
mad botanist — who would
never again kill human beings
—had been only a tool.

Curtis’s life was safe now; he
would recover with proper
treatment. Building him up
with the proper vitamins would
take care of that.

Frank climbed erect and tot¬
tered to the small cabin to as¬
sure the young broker of his
ultimate safety. And then, re¬
viving his own faculties, he
hobbled back to the scene of the
plant’s extinction.

By now Gregory’s mind was
almost normal. Frank helped
him to his room . . . they
helped each other.

“It was a bad dream,” was all
Gregory said. Frank nodded.
Better let it end that way.

Ingalls and Galloway were
gone beyond recall, Curtis was
safe. Ballinger was dead—and
in the morning they’d kill the
young plants. Yes—it had
been a bad dream.

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ASKING TOO MUCH?

Sirs:

Perhaps I am asking too much, but I think smooth edges
could easily be accomplished. Even if this caused a five
cent raise in price I believe the circulation would remain
steady or raise. Come on, readers, let’s make our favorite
science fiction magazine really one to value and preserve.

Kilborne Downey,

28 Stevens Ave.,
Columbus, Ohio.

• No, Mr. Downey, you aren’t asking too much. We’ve
given you a magazine now with smooth edges. We surely
hope you like it, and we will be glad to get your reaction,
and your further comments, to make “our favorite” even
better.—Ed.

A COMPANION TO AMAZING

Sirs:

I noticed your announcement of a companion to Amazing
Stories. If it is not a large format like in days of old, with
covers by Paul, and Morey, and illustrations by Finlay and
Binder included, it will just mean the bitter end for myself
and thousands of other loyal readers. I hope for the best.

Charles Hidley,

2541 Aqueduct Ave.,
New York, N. Y.

• There are more than a few readers who have written
letters such as yours, asking for large format. And since
Ziff Davis has been interested in science fiction, we have
been making it a policy to give our readers whatever they
want, when they prove to us they want it. Thus, we have
created a science fiction magazine with large format “like
in days of old” only much more modernized. As for Paul,
you’ll find him on the back cover. Next issue, he brings
another creation to you, and each issue after that, in his
new series of life in the Solar System. As for the other
artists you mention, we will certainly secure them to illus¬
trate for us, assisting our very popular Julian S. Krupa, who
does so well in helping us launch this inaugural issue of
Fantastic Adventures. —Ed.

LONG STORIES

Sirs:

I think you should include a novel of 30,000 words or
so with only a few short stories, instead of just seven short
stories in each issue.

Arthur Rudolph,
Fort Francis,
Ontario, Canada.

• In this issue we present not one, but two short novels,
as you request. Nor have we sacrificed any short stories

to do it. We still intend to present seven stories to you,
and we know you’ll be pleased. Fantastic Adventures
intends to give you the biggest bargain in science fiction.
—Ed.

SCIENCE IN STORIES

Sirs:

I think your new mag will be a huge success. If it is
to be edited by the editors of Amazing Stories it cannot
be otherwise, sez I. Keep your stories more on the fiction
side. Please try to keep some of the scientific explanations
out of the stories. They’re beyond me, and many other
readers, I’ll bet.

Martin Bronstein,

Box 105,

Kerhonkson, N. Y.

• The editors feel that they’ve struck a marvelous balance
in science fiction with the stories of this issue of Fantastic
Adventures. We’ve always held that any type fiction
should be entertaining first, and technical last. We have
endeavored to present science fiction that will entertain you,
that will be interesting, as well as educational, because the
education is unconsciously assimilated while the story is
thoroughly enjoyed. Our system of footnotes has proven
itself of great value in this respect.—Ed.

FACT ARTICLES

Sirs:

You bet I want fact articles. Almost any subject, such
as atomic research, chemistry, geology, and astronomy. If
you start running articles it would be a good idea to enlarge
the size of the magazine to 160 pages.

Robert Jackson,

239 W. State Street,
Barberton, Ohio.

9 You will find FANTASTIC HOAXES a fact article, and
our back cover, plus the interior article concerning it is
based on astronomical facts. The Martian is hypothetical,
true, but he is constructed as he might be, considering what
we know of Mars. And we’ll continue to present fact arti¬
cles, such as FANTASTIC INVENTIONS, too, which is on
the subject of perpetual motion machines this time.—Ed.

CONGRATULATIONS

Sirs:

Congratulations on your intention to put out a new
science fiction magazine. I know you’ll give it everything 1
Edward Gadouas,

2618 W. Michigan St.
Milwaukee, Wisconsin.

• We have given it everything!—Ed.

The MAN FROM MARS

By PAUL

Science teBs ns that it is logical to believe that other
planets are inhabited by some form of life. Just what type
isn’t exactly certain, but astronomy points toward definite
planetary conditions which can be taken into consideration
in imagining what type of “man” that planet would be most
likely to develop. On our back cover we have conceived of
the Man From Mars, as he most logically might exist.

Mars is the oldest of planets, having cooled faster than
its larger brothers. Its location also aided in its rapid ad¬
vance, and life must have appeared there long before on
earth. Therefore, our Martian must be more advanced,
more evolved than we, and taking into consideration his
planetary environment be would most likely possess the fol¬
lowing features.

Mars’ lesser gravity would give him great stature, would

provide the necessity for rather peculiar modes of locomo¬
tion. Therefore, we can give him suction feet, rather frail,
thin body, and large head. Thin atmosphere would make
large ears necessary to catch sound, would give him enor¬
mous lung development, and would tend to make him de¬
velop telepathy as a more practical method of communica¬
tion. A very cold climate would clothe him with heavy
warm fur, white in color due to the absence of color-produc¬
ing sunlight. His advanced science would aid him by
providing extremely efficient protective clothing as a most
necessary factor in his life. He would also possess an
evolution permitting protection of delicate eyes and nose
against cold through retraction into the body. All in all he
would be a highly evolved creature, possessing great science
knowledge and high intelligence.

KEY TO BACK COVER ILLUSTRATION

Erectable natural tele¬
pathic antenna for extra
sensory communication.

Enormous shell shaped
ears to catch sound waves
in Mars’ rarefied atmos¬
phere.

Huge lung development,
to provide sufficient ox¬
ygen for a large body.

Heavy, closely knit white
fur, to protect the frail
body against extreme
cold.

Synthetic water and food
pellets to provide nourish¬
ment on the desert.

cold, electrically warmed.

I Oxygen tank to supple¬
ment meagre supply pres¬
ent in Martian atmos-

Repulsion hand rockets,
to aid in moving about
on shipboard or in space.

Heavy, air-tight, in¬
sulated suit, to protect
against both cold and
empty space.

Oxygen purifyer, to
cleanse our air supply,
and remove carbon
dioxide.

BOOKS

ON AVIATION, RADIO AND PHOTOGRAPHY

☆

ZIFF-DAVIS PUBLISHING COMPANY, publishers of Fantastic
Adventures, present this book list for your convenience. Here's
your chance to get valuable books written for the layman and
the technician, especially suited for practical everyday use.

ONCE TO EVERY PILOT (505)

By Capt. Frank Hawks

Such great aviators as Eddie Allen,
Jimmie Mattern, Wiley Post, Eddie
Rlckenbacker, A1 Williams, Capt. Frank
Hawks himself and others tell you in
their own words how they felt when
they encountered danger and $ I rn
flirted with death. -P 1

MODERN RADIO SERVICING

(T05)

By Alfred A. Ghirardi

A complete course on the most up-to-
date methods of radio servicing—the
construction and operation of all kinds
of latest radio test equipment; servic¬
ing and repair of all forms of receivers;
locating and eliminating noise and in¬
terference; special servicing dx nn
problems . wt.l/U

PHOTOGRAPHY FOR FUN

(207)

By William M. Strong

35e paper bound $1.00 cloth bound

Filled with practical information. All
about photography for fun and as a
hobby. Excellent reading for the begin-

GETTING A JOB IN AVIATION
(510)

By Carl Norcross

374 pages, S'/jxS, illustrated.

Describes all jobs in the field of aero¬
nautics, what workers do, pay, working
conditions, opportunities, requirements,
etc. Where to get the best kind of
training and what it costs. Discusses
the future of the aviation industry and
forecasts the number of jobs (n rn
available for the next few years.

HOW TO PASS RADIO LICENSE
EXAMINATIONS (107)

By C. E. Drew

Explains fully all the questions that
are met in taking the Federal Com¬
munications Commission’s examinations
for all classes of radio operator. Deals
with the Radio Act and the Federal
Communications Commission Rules and
Regulations. Explanation of ship’s
diotelephone — *-*-*— --

1 telegraphy.

FLYING AND HOW TO DO if
(502)

By Assen Jordanoff
Foreword by Frank Hawks

A brand new idea, conceived and exe¬
cuted by a well known flyer and de¬
signed to satisfy the demands of thou¬
sands of young men and women who
are waiting for a chance to try their
wings in the air. For those who wish
to learn the facts of flying step ^ | 25

RADIO PHYSICS COURSE

(104)

By Alfred A. Ghirardi

*3

.$ 2.00

HOW TO MAKE GOOD
PICTURES (206)

Eastman Kodak Co.

Tells how a camera works. Detailed in¬
formation about close-ups, landscapes,
night pictures (indoors and out), un¬
usual subjects, composition, pictures of
children, architectural photography,
silhouettes, developing, printing, C|V,
enlarging. Profusely illustrated.

plications. Invaluable t
ginner. Student, Service
pp., 808 illustrations..

the radio Be-

$4.oo

ELEMENTARY PHOTOGRAPHY
(202)

By Neblette, Brehm and Priest

Suitable for all amateur photographers.
A manual, not a general textbook.
Every step in developing a mastery of
photography is so clearly explained in
the text and illustrations that the in¬
terested beginner can use this 70-
manual for self instruction. »

I WANTED WINGS (504)

By Beirne Lay, Jr.

If you want to feel the impact of speed,
danger, terror—read Beirne Lay’s per¬
sonal narrative. His story of the mak¬
ing of an aviator gives the reader the
sum total of a pilot’s experience. It car¬
ries you along from excitement to ex¬
citement:—lifts you for wild rides on
flfteen-thousand-foot hills of snowy
clouds—sends you overside in a para¬
chute to be plunked into the cold waves
of a wintry ocean—dumps you head-
down in the mud in a hedge-hopping
crash—drives you scrambling from the
wreck of a bomber lest you be burned

$2.50

CATHODE-RAY TUBE AT WORK
( 101 )

By John F. Rider

A new era in the servicing of radio re¬
ceivers, public-address systems, trans¬
mitters, etc., is in the offing. The the¬
ory underlying the functioning of the
cathode-ray tube and the circuits that
accompany it receives full consideration
in this book. The second half of the
volume is devoted to specific and prac¬
tical applications of commercial oscillo¬
scopes to servicing and adjustment

U. S. CAMERA—1939 (208)

Edited by T. J. Maloney

Outstanding yearbook of American pho¬
tography. Stiff board covers individu¬
ally mounted with a color reproduction.
Includes 200 of the year’s best pictures
with full technical data on each pho¬
tograph; 16 pages in full color accom¬
panied by an article on color photog¬
raphy by Anton Bruehl. 24 pages of
Farm Security Administration photo¬
graphs. The most elaborate edition of
u. S. CAMERA ever produced. ^2 9Q

o death.

$2.50

Check books desired on
coupon and mail today.
Books not listed will be
supplied on request. Post¬
age prepaid on orders
accompanied by remit¬
tance.

B BOOK DEPARTMENT
I Ziff-Davis Publishing Company
B 608 South Dearborn Street
B Chicago, Illinois

CHECK THE
BOOKS
YOU WANT
AND MAIL

506 105 207 510 107 206

□ □□□□□

502 104 202 101 504 208

□ □□□□□

I Please send me the books I have checked, at prices listed.

I □ Enclosed find check or money order. Q Send them C.O.D., plus postage.

| Name .....

■ City ..«....— State....,..

foUICK^ASIE^WAY

lEIECIRICnY

! 2 Ms^H

To
\T**' N
FoR

Practical WORK

IN MY

CHICAGO SHOPS

d shown how to do it.

WANT TO EARN MORE MONEY?

Have you ever dreamed of holding down
a steady, good pay job? Have you
ever dreamed of doing the work you
really like in a job that holds promise
of a real future in the years ahead?

Well, we all know that you can’t get
the good things in life by just dream¬
ing about them. Hundreds of fellows are
today holding down mighty fine jobs with
prospects of a bright future. They are filling
these jobs because they had the foresight to
equip themselves with the right kind of
training. Most of these men were only aver¬
age fellows a short time ago, but the proper
training helped to lift them out of the low pay
ranks of unskilled workers. The same oppor¬
tunity is now offered to you.

The great fascinating field of ELECTRICITY
offers a real future to many men and young
men who are willing to prepare for a place in
this giant industry.

Here at my school in Chicago, the
world’s Electrical Center, you can
get 12 weeks’ Shop Training in
ELECTRICITY, that can help give you
your start towards a better job.

You will be trained on actual equip¬
ment and machinery and because of our method
of training, you don’t need previous experi¬
ence or a lot of education. Many of my
successful graduates never even completed
Grammar School.

Here in my school you work on generators,
motors, dynamos, you do house wiring,wind arma¬
tures and do actual work in many other branches
of electricity and right now I'm including valuable
instruction in Diesel, Electric Refrigeration
and Air Conditioning at no extra cost. Our
practical shop methods make it easier to learn—
First the instructors tell you how a thing should
be done—then they show you how it should be
done—then you do the actual work yourself.

I’LL FINANCE YOUR TRAINING

You can get this training first—then pay for it
later in easy monthly payments, starting 60
days after your 12 weeks’ training period is
over — then you have 12 months to complete
your payments.

If you need part time work to help out with
expenses while training in my shops, my employ¬
ment department will help you get it. Then
after graduation this department will give you
valuable lifetime employment service.

Send the coupon today for all details.
When I get it I’ll send you my big free book
containing dozens of pictures of students at work
H. C. LEWIS, President

COYNE E ™S E (fJoOL AL

SOO S. Paulina St., Dept. 49-66, Chicago

thing

. c pJ'n'ed n <* b» I

r

r r 5Joe Trafcfie*

_ aI yk, c%£* 8 -

in my shops. I’ll also tell you about my “Pay
After Graduation’ ’plan, how many earn while
learning and how we help our
students after graduation.

Fill in, clip coupon, mail it
today for your start toward (,
brighter future.

’ h7 c” LEWIS,'President
COYNE FLECTRICAL SCHOOL
500 South Paulina Street, Dept. 49-66, Chicago, Ill.
Dear Sir: Please send me free your big catalog and full particulars of your
present offer, also your “Pay-Tuition-After-Graduation” Plan.

NAME.

ADDRESS.

.CITY -STATE_

The MAN from MARS

b

PAUL